


Charity Baseball

by Elenhin



Category: The Unusuals
Genre: Baseball, New York Yankees, charity - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-12
Updated: 2017-04-17
Packaged: 2018-08-30 13:29:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 30,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8535016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elenhin/pseuds/Elenhin
Summary: A terrible fire has raged through parts of New York, leaving many people homeless and in need of help. The Second Precinct picks up the ball, quite literally, to lend a hand. A game of Charity Baseball between all the precincts in New York.
Through a series of games, they’ll face one precinct at a time. 
 
The prize, a ten minute game against the New York Yankees.
Their secret weapon, the secret held by one Detective Jason Walsh.
 
Their greatest nemesis, one jealous and quite mean Sergeant Shaw who kind of hates Jason’s guts….





	1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

 

**_Second Precinct, this is dispatch. There is a fire over by Bed-Stuy, bring hot dogs and marshmallows, lots of them. About a ton of each._ **

****

As she entered the second precinct Casey noticed that everyone was already filling into the briefing room, which meant Sergeant Brown had something he wanted to tell them. Which usually wasn’t exactly a good thing. It had a tendency to mean that something really bad had happened, and things hadn’t exactly been all that quiet. There had been a bad fire in Bedford-Stuyvesant just a few weeks ago. Fortunately with only a few deaths, but a lot of the houses had been completely destroyed. There was a lot of homeless, there was a lot of both good and bad elements now moving to other parts of the city. Crime had picked up, naturally, as had the general craziness. There had been soup kitchens to feed those who had lost their homes, and those who did not like this had tried to terrorize them. So yeah, things had been a bit crazy and they had all been forced to work more shifts to keep up.

 

She nodded to Walsh who was holding a coffee mug in one hand, and the pot in the other as he headed towards the briefing room. Passing her desk she grabbed her own mug, or chances were she would not get any. Walsh had no trouble going through a pot on his own in the mornings if they let him. He had some funny coffee habits. She thought the stuff he made in the diner was vile, but he drank it happily. If he went to the break room for his coffee he took a little milk in it. Then he’d as often as not bring the pot and deposit it by his desk, or like now bring it into the briefing room. Others knew to head to his desk for coffee, or, he pretty much worked through the pot until it was empty.

 

How his stomach didn’t try to kill him she would never know.

 

“Alright,” Brown eyed the room to make sure everyone was there. “I don’t need to tell you about the fire in Bed-Stuy. There are still a lot of people in shelters who literally has nowhere to go. And you all know there are various charity organizations trying to help out. Now comes our turn. All the precincts in New York has been asked to put up a baseball team. It is however completely voluntary, but we need everyone we can get. We’ll be facing the other precincts over the course of the summer. The winner goes on, the loser is out. The proceeds of these games will go to food, shelter and rebuilding.”

 

“You can count on us Chief,” Alvarez cut in and Brown gave him a half glare.

 

“Anyone can tell this won’t bring in a lot, but, the winning team will be playing for ten minutes against the New York Yankees.”

 

That started a low rumble of voices in the room and Casey glanced at Walsh who sat quiet and calm. His face betrayed nothing of what he thought about that.

 

“Really, the Yankees?” Delahoy demanded.

 

“New York Yankees, yes, local team. You’ve heard of them then?” Brown replied with thick sarcasm. “It will be a joke, an ameteur police team agains them, but it’s the honor we’re playing for, and they’re donating money from that game to the same charity.”

 

“Awesome,” Alvarez smiled happily, doing thumbs up.

 

“Like I said, voluntary, but I trust everyone wants to help in some way.” He looked around the room, firmly, making sure everyone knew he expected them to volunteer. “You can give your names to the coach, who will be announced. If you can’t or don’t want to play but want to help, you can help with other things. So just let him know. That’s all for now, Alvarez, you and Walsh stay, the rest of you dismissed.”

 

There was a low murmur still in the room as they left, Walsh refilled his coffee mug but let Leo take the pot.

 

Brown waited until they were alone in the room. Alvarez almost bouncing excitedly while Walsh was calm and looked like nothing could shake him.

 

“When I said it was voluntarily I didn’t mean for you two,” he clarified. “It’s mandatory, for both of you.”

 

“You can always count on Eddie Alvarez,” he grinned.

 

“No, I can’t, but you’re learning,” Brown allowed. “Slowly, but you are learning. So you’re the coach. Not because I think you can do it, but because I hope you’ll learn some more about leadership and working together. And like it or not, you’re a natural leader Walsh. A lot of the others look to you even when they shouldn’t. If you don’t enter, they won’t. So, you’re in whether you like it or not.”

 

He shrugged, “I don’t mind playing baseball.”

 

“Good,” he nodded. “And Alvarez, if you have any brain you’ll make that work for you. If you run into a snag ask Walsh. He might be able to help even you to get people to work with you rather than against you.”

 

“Don’t worry, Eddie Alvarez is man enough to ask for advice when he needs it.”

 

“But sometimes too stupid to know he needs it,” Brown sighed. “Walsh. I don’t ask you to baby sit him. But this is our reputation on the line as well as being for a good cause. I don’t care what you do on regular office hours, you can put his desk on the roof for all I care, but don’t terrorize him too much on the field.”

 

“Pranks are for the locker room, not the field,” he gave a light shrug. “I volunteer, you can put me on the list Eddie. And I’ll give you a piece of free advice right now. Delahoy has a strong arm, get him to pitch.”

 

“Eddie Alvarez will do that,” he nodded thoughtfully. Surprising Brown. He knew of course that Walsh was both terrorizing and guiding Alvarez. He had not known they were at the point where Alvarez was actually willing to listen to advice. He wasn’t sure if forcing a bunch of cops to play baseball was really a good idea, but it might actually work. The lure of getting to play the Yankees was a strong one. That would make sure almost all of the precincts entered a team.They wouldn’t have all that long to prepare themselves either, but it should work. He doubted they would get very far. Delahoy might have a strong arm and a good aim, but did they have anyone who could play at all?

 

It did not really matter, he was pretty sure a couple of them would enjoy playing. They would raise some money that way and they would have done their duty.

 

Alvarez put up a list where they could put their names, naturally Walsh’s name was the first one. He had put himself down on first base. Casey Shraeger was also on the list, in Walsh’s handwriting. It was impossible to say if she had agreed to this or not, or if he was just entering her without giving her a choice.

 

With the two of them you never knew, she was not afraid of standing up to him or putting him in his place if she felt it was needed. On the other hand, he bossed her around when he thought it would be fun. It worked for them though, they made quite a good team.

 

Leo Banks tried to resist, on the grounds that it was too dangerous. He ranted about the speed of baseballs, the danger of being hit with a bat, and Delahoy pointed out that he would most likely hit him with a bat if he did not enter.

 

That seemed to convince him and pretty soon after that they had a team.

 

Brown wasn’t really interested, but he went down to have a look at their first practice. Most of them were dressed in sweats. Some in shorts and t-shirts. A few of them had found some more proper clothing somewhere that they wore. Most of them appeared to have at least brought a glove.

 

Walsh had been right, Dealhoy had a good arm and was really good as a pitcher. Cole was trying, but there was still a three strike call. Leo Banks was scared of the ball, so he didn’t manage it either. Then Walsh stepped up to the plate, he was one of the few who was clothed more appropriately for baseball. He had a batter’s helmet for one thing and a confidence about him that Cole did not share. Well, Walsh generally seemed confident.

The swing was perfect, as near as Brown could tell. He was no expert, but the bat connected with the ball with a loud crack, and Walsh was off running instantly. Rounding the bases, running as fast as Brown had ever seen him.

 

Home run, not what he had expected.

 

He was breathless when he stopped, leaning forward with his hands on his knees, panting. Shraeger tossed him a bottle of water and he nodded towards her. Handing over the batter’s helmet with a grin as she stepped up to the plate.

 

She did manage to hit the ball, but not much more than so.

 

During the whole time he watched he did not see anyone as good as Walsh, he was good, there was no doubt about that. He was also encouraging, and gave the others tips on how to improve. Judging from what he saw, Walsh could have been really good, probably even played for a real team if he had not decided to be a police instead.

 

He made a mental note of it, he still wondered about Walsh. He was a good cop, honest and hardworking, but he was also a closed book that no one could read. He was more open with Shrager than anyone else, and for reasons she kept to herself she didn’t tell.

 

Not even Beaumont really seemed to know very much about him, and they were a couple. Before the attempted murder on Walsh in the diner where she was shot, he had never known. He would never have guessed, but they were, they were however rather good at keeping it out of the office.

 

Alvarez was doing his best to play coach, which meant he was annoying Delahoy and Banks, but was actually doing a pretty good job of it otherwise. A couple of the girls from dispatch was standing with sandwiches, bottles of water and gatorade.

 

Alvarez also, surprisingly, deferred to Walsh on any subject of baseball, which was good but surprising.

 

Very surprising.

 

TBC

Please comment, Jeremy Cricket is hungry........


	2. Chapter 2

_**Chapter 2** _

 

After their practice they gathered at the Apollo. After a workout like that, Casey was starving. They had showered quickly and changed clothes, several of them showing up with still damp hair.

 

“That was actually a lot more fun than I had expected it to,” Beaumont mused. She and Cole was seated opposite Casey and Walsh. Casey though the order was a little strange, but she was getting used to that. “I had no idea you were that good, Walsh.”

 

“You could probably have gone ‘pro,” Cole added, his soft features lightning up in something of excitement.

 

“I just like to play,” he shrugged. “And you’re not so bad yourself Beaumont. You need to work on your swing though.”

 

“I might let you teach me that,” she grinned, winking at him.

 

“Okay, that’s enough, I don’t want to hear it,” Casey held out her hands in front of her. “We’re trying to eat here you know.”

 

“Yeah, well, you’re getting lessons too,” Walsh grinned. “Because you throw like a girl.”

 

“I am a girl,” she tried to sound offended, but as usual he did not care.

 

Just as their food arrived Alvarez climbed up onto a chair with his clipboard in hand. “Okay, listen up everyone and Eddie Alvarez is going to cover some of the details. It went well today, so you can all feel good about that. There are however some points we need to take care off.”

 

“Get another Coach?” Delahoy suggested loudly.

 

“Very funny,” Alvarez glared at him. “This is important, okay?”

 

“Okay you clowns, settle down,” Walsh urged, quieting them quickly and as much as he wished he could do the same, Alvarez had to agree with Sergeant Brown. Walsh was a natural leader whom just about everyone listened to.

 

“Alright,” he started again. “Since this was the first time, there’s not much to say. Except we all need to work on getting better, except Walsh. You’re obviously the best one we’ve got, so I’m going to put you to working individually with the rest, rotating. Delahoy, I want you to take Beaumont, Cole and Shraeger and work on their pitching. You’re good enough to help out on that.”

 

Delahoy nodded, that was something he could agree on.

 

“And, we’re all going to spend some time on the batting range, but before then I want you to give everyone a few pointers Walsh.”

 

He nodded, Alvarez was taking his job seriously and so far had not really messed it up. It was nothing like it was in the professional leagues, or even really High School baseball. For a bunch of cops though it was okay.

 

As they left the restaurant to head home he handed Casey an old battered baseball. “You start practicing with this one,” he grinned. The once white leather was stained with dirt and it was clear it had seen better days.

 

“What did you do with this? Ran it over with a car?” she frowned.

 

“It’s a game ball, the one we used when we won in High School, when I was picked,” he shrugged.

 

“Um, aren’t you supposed to be really careful with those,” she frowned. In his collection her father had a ball signed by several players of the New York Yankees after a game. It was kept in a glass case to protect it.

 

Walsh shrugged, as if it wasn’t important though she knew it must be since he had kept it. “It was just a High School game. Something of a mascot though I guess. But you need a ball to work on your grip. Here, you hold it like this,” he took the ball out of her palm, his fingers closing around it firmly. She looked closely, putting her hand over his to mimic the grip and he gave her an approving smile.

 

“You gonna try to make us into ‘pros?” Beaumont teased.

 

“I’m gonna make sure you two can grind all them male chauvinist pigs into the dust when we play,” he smiled in reply.

 

“I like that idea,” Beaumont gave him a pleased smile. She did. And she had no problem at all with him working so closely with Shraeger. Walsh was a survivor, he always had been and always would be. He was a good guy who still worked with Kowalski which wasn’t the best combination, but he could take it. He was happier now with Shraeger though. Much happier.

 

She was pretty sure that Sergeant Brown had paired Walsh with Kowalski in the hope that Walsh would rub off on Kowalski. It had never happened to her knowledge and while the two of them had worked together they had never really been close. Walsh was naturally shaken when Kowalski died, and he was right, even with all his flaws Kowalski was a cop.

 

Seeing him work with Shraeger though was much better. He got to be himself in a completely different way, and she wanted him to be happy.

 

Casey left them, still hefting the ball in her hand, like she was really trying to get a feel for it.

 

“Come on now,” Beaumont nudged him. “Let’s get back to your place and you can show me all about how to hold a bat.” The grin and the wink she gave him should leave no doubt in his mind what she really wanted to do.

**TBC**

_**Please comment, Jeremy Cricket is hungry...** _


	3. Chapter 3

_**  
**_

 

Given how it was all for charity they were all required to get their own safety gear. Uniforms would be sponsored, but would be numbers without any names. Helmets, baseball hats and gloves, and everything else they had to get their own though. Which was why Beaumont found herself in a sporting goods store with Shraeger and Walsh. She had been shopping with friends before, naturally. What woman had not? Normally when she went on a shopping trip though she did not find herself looking at jockstraps.

 

Naturally that one wasn’t for either her or Casey. Though they did have to get the female version.

 

She had thought they would go to Walmart and pick up some stuff there, but she had been wrong. Walsh had been insistent that they’d get real and proper gear. Her concern about the cost had been waved away by Walsh. She gathered that this was something important to him, as was the quality of the gear, which meant she gave in and went along with it.

 

Shraeger’s position in the infield was catcher, and she had been a little worried about that. Playing what was considered to be a somewhat dangerous position. Also, with the helmet, shin guards, chest protector and mit on she looked a little unbalanced. She could easily see the sense in her helmet having the full face guard. Seeing as how she would be having balls thrown at her with high velocity. She wasn’t really fond of that, but there was no other choice really. Walsh hadn’t told Beaumont yet, and she wasn’t sure if he would, but he had played first base professionally and while he could no doubt handle cather it would be a shame to put him there.

 

Banks wouldn’t dare, it was hard enough to get him out on the field. Cole was a little too nervous for it, and Delahoy really was their best pitcher.

 

Walsh said she was tough enough for it, which helped, and he was making sure she was as protected as she could be. Telling her to get a pair of batters gloves, to wear with the mitt, which did not make sense to her at first. Wearing gloves in the mitt seemed a bit weird, but his explanation that it would lessen the impact of the ball sounded like a very good idea.

 

During practice he had lent them the helmet he had worn, it only had an ear guard on the one side which she thought looked kind of silly. His explanation made sense though, that it was to protect the one side exposed, and that it was something mostly only the pros did. Well, it made sense to her that he had one of those then. He claimed it was better for them to have a junior design with ear guards on both sides. He made sure that Beaumont got an outfielder’s glove, and Casey had never known there were so many different gloves.

 

Not to mention that some of the gloves were mitts. He had a mitt, a first baseman’s mitt, which had no fingers like the outfielders glove had.

 

Then there were balls and bats, the only thing she really knew well. A Louisville slugger and Rawlings. Which he promised them they would use a lot.

 

Obviously he meant to work the two of them quite hard.

 

She was right in that suspicion. He took them to the park pretty much straight from the store. Giving Beaumont a quick lesson on how to hold the bat and swing in the batting cage. While she did that, he made Shraeger put on all her gear and stood pitching balls for her to catch. To get used to the mitt and the protective gear.

 

At first she could not really help flinching a little from time to time as the ball came speeding towards her. He might not have played pitcher, but she thought he would have been able to given how hard the balls were. So yes, at first she flinched, then she realized that the pads worked, and while her hand was a bit sore, the gloves in the mitt helped. Once he had been throwing pitches at her for nearly an hour she also found that while it was not really comfortable and yes, her hand was sore, it was not half as scary anymore.

 

She was rubbing her hand, Beaumont was rubbing her wrists, and she thought it was unfair he didn’t seem sore from pitching. On the other hand, he was good at not showing those things.

 

“Alright, you get in there now,” Beaumont jerked her thumb towards the batting cage. “You put us through this, we’re gonna watch you do it.”

 

“Sure,” it was a good idea, something he had meant to do anyway, so he didn’t mind. Putting on his helmet and bat and stepping into the cage.

 

“You know, for a while in there I felt like I could almost get good,” Beaumont mused as they sat on the grass and watched him hit ball after ball. The crack upon impact loud and the ball flying the length of the cage. “We should never have told him to do it.”

 

“I don’t think it’s gonna matter how good we get, he’s still going to make us feel like we’re crap,” Casey agreed.

 

“But if he keeps that up, we might not lose out on the first game,” Beaumont decided. “We might even last two or three. We can’t be the only precinct where no one can play.”

 

“We’re not,” she agreed. “And we have one guy who really do know how to play.”

 

“If we’re lucky, we’ll draw against the seventh precinct,” Beaumont mused. “They are pansies, all of them. We’d walk right over them.”

 

“That would be fun,” she mused. “I really hope we get at least one win. I know it’s not why we do this, but if we are gonna do it, I want something to show for it.”

 

“I think we stand a chance,” Beaumont smiled. Giving a wolf whistle. “Come on, you’re done. No hogging the cage.”

 

He nodded, and hit a last ball. Given the loud crack, she was pretty sure that if it had been on the field it would have been a homerun. Her dad naturally was involved in the Yankees, so she had seen several games from one of the luxury boxes. Eating caviar and such as the game progressed. She had never been all that interested in it. It was just yet another rich girl thing she was not entirely comfortable with. This was the first time she wished she had paid a little more attention. It was possible that he had been in one of the games she had seen.

 

Perhaps her father would know, but then she’d have to divulge that she worked with the guy, and she wasn’t sure if that was a good idea. Walsh clearly still had the talent for it, even if he hadn’t practiced full time in a long time. She wasn’t sure about when they would decide their career was officially over, but there was no doubt in her mind that Walsh could still go pro if he wanted to. Hard to say if they’d take him in the major league. The minor though, she was sure of it.

 

She and Beaumont gripped the bat, as corny as it sounded, Walsh was the bat. It was like an extension of his hands, and there was no movement wasted as he ran for the bases. It was inspiring to see, but she also wondered what Sergeant Brown would think about it. He was still trying to figure Walsh out after all. There was no way he’d miss the talent he had shown as they practiced though. He was not stupid after all.

 

Beaumont headed with Walsh to the diner, so she decided to head home. Give the two of them some time with each other.

 

One thing she had come to know was that both of them enjoyed to have sex, and while they would always be kind and polite to her, she had accidentally interrupted them several times with phone calls or by coming by.

 

Besides, if she went with them, there was always the chance that Walsh would decide to feed them, and she wanted to enjoy that. How he had not yet gotten sued by some customer was beyond her. He put tomatoes in fruit salad, and skittles, because he was low on fruit. There has also been the Italien pizza with pasta on it. There had been an endless number of similar dishes.

**TBC**

**_Please comment, Jeremy Cricket is hungry....._ **


	4. Chapter 4

 

Crime does not stop just because the police force is playing baseball. It’s not like they had expected it too, but it’s painfully obvious when a shoe store is robbed. At first, dispatch nearly puts it down as a prank call, but then Shraeger and Walsh are sent out to the address to see what’s going on. 

 

Someone has broken into the back of the store and taken a large amount of shoes, all left shoes. The right shoe out of every pair is still there, the left is gone. 

 

They’ve barely left the store before there’s a call sending them to a shoe store two blocks over, again. Out of every pair of shoes, only the right is left. The boxes has been thrown around in heaps, the place is a disaster zone where it’s hard to find anything. 

 

“No money missing?” Walsh looks at the cash register that looks untouched.

 

“No, no money, that’s all here, but all the shoes,” the owner looks about ready to tear his hair. “What am I gonna do now? No one is ever going to buy half a pair of shoes. I have no shoes to sell.” 

 

“One legged thief deciding to set up a life supply?” Casey frowned as she looked at the mess. 

 

“Has to be a one legged family in that case,” Walsh shook his head, holding up a tiny Lightning McQueen shoe, and a brown leather shoe that was too big even for him. “I can’t see the same people wearing those, or this,” he frowned as he looked at a stiletto. The heel was long and sharp enough to be classified a weapon. “Can anyone really walk in these?” 

 

“I can, I hate it, but I can,” she grinned. 

 

“What am I gonna do now?” the owner interrupted. “I have nothing to sell, I’m ruined.” 

 

“Naturally we’ll do all we can,” Walsh promised. “And we’ll get in touch with you when we have something, or if we need some more information from you. Until then you’ll have to speak to your insurance company.” 

 

They had no more than left that store when they were called to another one. 

 

“I came back from lunch, and the door was open,” the clerk shook his head in amazement. “And you’ll never guess what they took.” 

 

“Shoes, but only one from every pair, and only the left one,” Casey mused. 

 

“How did you know?” his mouth hung open. 

“You’re the third one, this is really weird,” Walsh mused. “Is there a black market for left shoes that we don’t know about?” 

 

The clerk shook his head, baffled. “Beats me, we get someone about every second or third month who wants only one shoe. But then it’s always because they only have one foot. And they generally don’t take hundreds of them at a time.” 

 

“You wouldn’t think they could sell them,” Casey shook his head. 

 

There wasn’t much they could do then and there, and it really did not seem to make any sense.” 

 

“Okay, so you’ve emptied three stores, what do you do?” Walsh frowned. 

 

“Normally I’d say sell them, but really, can you sell that many when you only have half the pair?” she shook her head. 

 

“It’s a long shot, but we’d better run a search on known criminals with only one leg,” he doubted it would yield anything, but it was worth a shot. 

 

Seeing as how criminals often led a violent life, there was more than one who only had one leg, but none of them seemed very likely. 

 

“What gets me is that it’s all different kinds,” leaning back in his chair Walsh refilled his coffee mug. She wasn’t sure if it was his second, third or eight mug, but he was rapidly emptying the pot. It had been full when they got back. There were times she thought she ought to take him to ‘caffeine addicted anonymous’, but she wasn’t sure if it would work. “It would make more sense if it was all the same size. But that many, no, whoever is taking them is not out to use them.” 

 

“Is there a black market for shoes?” it sounded crazy, but so did a guy dressed like a seagull trying to steal fish from the market, and they had one in the holding cell right there, only a few yards away from her desk. 

 

“I wouldn’t be surprised, but if they showed up there with only the one kind, no, again, no. If it had only been one store, I would have said revenge of some sort. But we are talking three different stores that are not connected in any way we know about.” 

 

“Insurance fraud?” it wasn’t likely, but it was something. 

 

Before he could reply Walsh’s phone rang and he spoke briefly. 

 

“You look into the insurance, you’re better at that stuff anyway. I’m gonna head down to the park and pick Marvin up.” 

 

“What did he do this time?” Marvin was as much part of the second precinct as some of the cops were. He wasn’t mean, but he was a little retarded and constantly got himself mixed up in stuff. Petty crimes mostly, he’d go in, get booked and be out again. Born to be caught some called it. Walsh had a soft spot for him and was therefore generally the one who got to deal with him. 

 

“I’m not sure exactly what, I’ll have to see when I get there. You see if any of the stores are in financial trouble.” 

 

“Bring back a doughnut if you go past the bakery,” she called. It was a long time since lunch, speaking off, they had missed lunch. “Or some real food. Food would be good.” 

 

Walsh was back an hour later, Marvin in tow and a bag of take away in one hand. 

 

“How was I supposed to know he wasn’t telling the truth?” Marvin pouted as Walsh put the food down on their desks. Handing Marvin a container and a bottle of soda. 

 

“Marvin, a guy comes up to you, just some random guy, and tells you that there is a fortune in used chess pieces, while you try to hold up some old guys for their chess sets, he robs a street vendor. Did nothing in this seem wrong to you?” 

 

“No,” eyeing Walsh carefully Marvin started eating. “Not really, should it have?” 

 

“Yeah, it should have,” Walsh confirmed. “If those pieces were worth so much, why didn’t he take them? Why did he tell you?” 

 

“He said he admired my style,” Marvin pulled himself up a bit, then slumped in his seat. “I’m in trouble again, huh?” 

 

“Yeah, yeah you are,” Walsh nodded. “I’ll have to book you again. And we’ll have to see if any of them press charges.” 

 

“They were kinda tough for old guys,” he mused. 

 

Walsh rubbed his temples as if he were feeling a headache coming on. “Marv, they were ex-marines. You’re lucky they called it in instead of sorting it themselves.” 

 

“Oh, that could have gotten ugly,” the best thing with Walsh bringing back takeaway was not that he knew what she liked, which he did, it was that it wasn’t his cooking. Which meant it was all edible. 

 

“Thanks for picking me up Walsh,” Marvin seemed to have realized that as well and was grateful. “I’m sorry I messed it up for you again.” 

 

“It’s fine, just, if someone tells you something that sounds weird, don’t do it, okay?” Walsh pleaded with him. “A lot of them are using you, they’ll get away and you get busted, and that is no good. If it sounds crazy, walk away.” 

 

“So I shouldn’t listen to the guy about the shoes then, huh?” he frowned as he poked around in his food. 

 

“What shoes?” Walsh demanded, dropping his fork while Casey sat up straighter. 

 

“The guy who wanted me to help him steal shoes,” Marvin looked a little worried. “I didn’t do it. I’m not gonna get in trouble for that too, am I?” 

 

Walsh hurried to reassure him. “No, no, if you didn’t do it, you’re not gonna get in trouble for it. I promise. But I need you to tell me everything about it, everything you can remember, but you have to be sure you get it right, okay?” 

 

“Yeah,” he nodded, looking a little worried still but calmer. Marvin really trusted Walsh to want his best. Which was good for them. “This guy wanted me to help him steal shoes. And it sounded a bit weird, he didn’t want to steal both shoes, he only wanted to steal one. And he only had one leg, so that part wasn’t so weird, but the rest was.” 

 

“He only wanted left shoes?” Walsh asked and Marvin nodded. “And he was one legged, so he only had the left leg?” 

 

“No, he only had the right leg,” Marvin stated firmly. 

 

“Are you sure?” Walsh pushed and the guy nodded. 

 

“Yeah, I mean, that was the weird part. He had like a metal leg, but it was the right, I know left and right Walsh. I do, he only had this one,” he pointed to his own right leg. “The other was this metal thing.” 

 

“Do you have any idea where we can find him?” Walsh wanted to know and Marvin to Casey’s surprise nodded. 

 

“Yeah, he told me where to meet him if I changed my mind. Do you want me to tell you where?” 

 

“Yes, yes, I do,” he pushed his half eaten lunch away. “You might just have helped us Marvin. I still need to book you, but I’ll do what I can to make sure you get off easy, okay?” 

 

“Yeah,” he nodded. “Are you gonna eat that?” he nodded to Walsh’s half finished cartoon of food, and he handed it to him as Marvin gave him the address.

 

“You can bring it with you to the cell, we need to hurry to see about getting him. I’m gonna have someone come here and collect you, okay?” 

 

“Okay,” Marvin sat back, relaxing as if he wasn’t sitting at a desk in a police station and was about to get arrested. 

  
Walsh wasn’t worried about leaving him, Marvin wouldn’t try to get away. He would sit and wait patiently until someone took him to one of the cells. 

 

The alley Marvin had told them to go to held the back door to another shoe store, which in a way made sense. A shoe thief naturally wants to be somewhere where he can steal shoes. As soon as they show their badges, and tells him to come quietly, he runs. As he had been kneeling by the door trying to open it with a crude lock pick Casey figures it shouldn’t be too hard to get the charges to stick though. He is however quite fast for a one legged man, and she quickly falls behind. 

 

Walsh sprints after and she’s not really surprised when he catches up to him. Even if the guy was fast. When she catches up to them, he’s trying to kick her partner with his prosthetic leg, and gets what looks like a good hit in on his chin. It probably hurts but Walsh does not really show it as he spins the guy around, forcing him against the wall so that Casey can get the cuffs on him. 

 

Obviously it’s not gonna be hard to get him to talk, he does nothing but scream and rage on the way back to the station. Apparently the guy lost his leg in a motorcyle accident and is now angry on everyone who has two legs still. So by stealing all the left shoes, he figured he’d make it harder for everyone who still had two legs. 

 

Yeah, it about pared the course for the second precinct. How he thought it made sense. He kept ranting at them, trying to kick Walsh who was holding him, just about accusing them for the fact that he only had one leg. 

 

In a sense, in his weird logic, it was probably true as the motor cycle accident occurred as he was trying to run from the police who told him it was not polite to steal said motorcycle. Naturally he blamed them for it. 

 

She was really rather glad they were able to just release Marvin. The ex-marines weren’t that upset about it. Actually more compassionate once they were informed that the poor guy had been played. Seeing as how he had also wound up helping them, and that most of the stolen shoes were recovered, it seemed only fair. 

 

The thing about Walsh, Casey mused was the things he did. He didn’t just release Marvin, he had a word with the owners of the shoes, and was able to convince them to let Marvin help them sort out all the shoes that had just been left in heaps. That way, he’d be out of trouble for about a week if they were lucky. He’d get paid for it, and it generally worked out for everyone’s best. 

  
That was why he was such a good cop she figured, he really cared. 

 

**TBC**

 

**_Please comment, Jeremy Cricket is hungry....._ **


	5. Chapter 5

 

Their first game was against the first precinct. On a small run down field in a park. Standing spectators only, but there was a hot dog vendor and a fair turnup. Enough of the public were curious about it and wanted to see the games. 

 

Casey was nervous, her only comfort that the other team looked nervous as well. Well, they should be nervous, after all, the second had a pro. They hadn’t even had to do anything sneaky or underhanded to get one like the bad guys always did in movies and shows. They just had happened to have one lying around. 

 

Naturally it wouldn’t be a professional game, there was only a few who really knew what they were doing. Most of them knew when to bat and run though, which was about as much as could be hoped for. They did not really have a visting team either, since the park was pretty much smack down in the middle between first and second. 

 

The third precinct was facing the fourth. The fifth was facing the sixth and so on. It was apparently the easiest and fairest way to start it off. The next weekend, they would draw lot to see who faced who of the winning teams. 

 

There was also something going on that she did not quite know what it was. Walsh played first base, which to her was the most natural thing in the world as that was the position he had held in the Yankees. Yet Delahoy and Banks kept asking who was on first, and then everyone burst out laughing. Really, it should be obvious to everyone that Walsh was on first. Even more confusing, when Wilson asked something they all demanded to know what, and when Alvarez replied he did not know, there was a chorus of ‘he’s on third.’

 

There was no way that made any sense to her, but even Beaumont laughed so apparently it was funny. 

 

She figured she could make them explain it to her later. Walsh usually never minded. He might say it was because she was a girl, or a rich girl, but he usually didn’t mind explaining it to her. 

 

He was also a quite effective infielder. If the balls got close to him, he caught them. They just thudded into his mit and he had them flying back a split second later. It helped that the other team had a first baseman who did not even seem clear about what it was he was supposed to be doing. Given that a lot of their own player were a little confused about it as well the score was pretty even. The second precinct just seemed to keep a few points ahead, inning by inning. 

  
Working as the catcher was hard, and twice she thought they’d slide right into her. She tried to remember what Walsh had told her though, not to give. She had the shin guards, they might bruise, but not damage. The balls might thud into the face guard, but they couldn’t get through it. The most important was to stand your ground. 

 

She and Delahoy had also worked out a couple of signals. Not that she really could determine what balls he should throw. She had no idea, but Walsh would nod to her, once, twice, or shake his head. Telling her what sign to give Delahoy. 

 

It seemed to work, the curve balls had one of the guys absolutely stumped. He kept swinging far too early and never even came close. That helped, and gave them a couple of third strikes. Naturally a few of the pitches were outside the designated area, but the good thing with the amateurs was that they swung anyway. 

 

The not so good thing was that when it was her turn to stand to the bat, so did she. Walsh was pretty much the only one who didn’t, out of both teams. He also hit a homerun that allowed several other players to come back to the home plate. 

 

The two home runs he hit allowed them to get enough points to take a firm lead. Then Cole caught a ball that Casey really had expected to get past him. He caught it though, and happily accepted the praise Beaumont heaped on him for it. 

 

Their only weak spot was Banks, and not because he wasn’t trying but because he was much too scared of the ball. As he played right field though, Walsh was able to cover a small part of his territory, and he was fast. He kept his eyes on the ball, leaping and sliding to get it in his mitt. 

 

At first Casey did not realize what was happening as he scooped up the ball and ran for first base, sliding towards it until he could touch the base. The other team’s batter runner was only halfway to the base, which was apparently why, and it was called a ground-out. It was a very good thing, and something she decided she would try to remember. Who knew, it could come in useful later on. 

 

It was amusing how the players of the first precinct seemed to want to copy this, trying to achieve the same against Beaumont. It did not work though as she was too fast and slid to safety untouched. 

 

The game was over after that, second precinct the winner which meant they would go on. 

 

Her gear might be new, and only used by her, but at the end of the game Casey was really starting to feel rather grubby. It was hot and stiff, and she felt sore. In spite of it she still joined the others as there was a round of high-fives and hugs. 

 

Well, they had won, they were entitled to it. 

 

Walsh even gave Beaumont a solid kiss in public, but she figured no one was paying attention to that. 

 

Since the ballpark had no changing rooms they went back to the station to shower and change. As they would head to the Apollo to celebrate. 

 

Once upon a time before women were allowed to be official police officers, the station had only changing rooms for male. Which meant that while one shower had been appointed to women there were still some equipment in there best suited for males. It had never bothered her, it did not make sense to put so much money to fixing it, also, there had been the time when they had taken a large number of guys who had tried to hide in a garbage heap. It had taken every shower in the building to try and make it bearable to book them. 

 

They had also been forced to disinfect the showers afterwards. 

 

Now as the only female team members she and Beaumont had the showers to themselves. 

 

“You think they’re carrying on like they always do in movies in there?” Casey frowned. 

 

“Wouldn’t know, I can’t really picture Cole going around hugging everyone and pulling down towels,” Beaumont grinned. “Not that I wouldn’t mind seeing Walsh lose his.” 

 

“Too much information,” she made a face. “Anyway, do you really need that?” 

 

“Not really,” she shrugged. “But it can be fun.” She was trying to get the grass out of her hair before she got into the shower. “They all have it easy, it’s unfair.” 

 

“Yeah,” she might not have grass in her hair, but dirt and sweat. “Sometimes I think they don’t even care anyway. That they get all dirty I mean.” 

 

“Some do, some don’t,” she shrugged again. “I used to date a guy who turned out to be a real slob. It was horrible, reeked, dirty clothes everywhere. Couldn’t even take the dirty dishes to the sink. It didn’t last long.” 

 

“I see why,” that sounded horrible. 

 

“He might not always seem like it, but Walsh is a pretty good catch,” she mused. 

 

“I don’t think the first precinct is overly fond of him right now,” Casey half giggled. 

 

“Probably not, he earned us more points than the rest of us put together,” Beaumont grinned. “I didn’t think we’d get past the first game, so getting all that gear seemed like a waste. But he really seemed happy to do it, and now, you know, I think we might actually win another game or two.” 

 

“Yeah, that would be really good,” she mused. “Maybe we can get him to take us to that batting cage again. Once you get past the fact that they’re shooting baseballs at you, it’s really fun.” 

 

“You know, it really is,” Beaumont agreed. 

 

By the time they were ready, so were the guys. Clean scrubbed, and it looked like some of them had had to work a little to get all the dirt and grime off. Sliding into bases could do that. She wasn’t sure how Walsh would get the grass stains out of his uniform, but then she half wondered if he really cared. 

 

As soon as everyone was gathered in the Apollo Alvarez climbed up on a chair. “All right, listen up everyone.” 

 

No one really paid any attention to him until Walsh snapped his fingers. Then they quieted. 

 

“Okay, we won. There are a few things we need to work on, timing, don’t drop the ball,” he told them. “Just because we won one game does not mean we can get cocky. We need to work, and work hard, all of us.”

 

“I don’t understand, that mean you’re gonna work, or just yell at us?” Delahoy demanded to a chorus of laughter. 

 

“He’s the coach, this time, it’s his job to yell and tell us stupid things,” Walsh grinned. 

 

“Yeah, well, right now, I’m going to tell you to enjoy the victory, good job everyone,” having said his piece he got down from the chair.    
  
Casey was surprised, for once, he had pretty much handled things correctly. Maybe there truly was hope for him. 

 

**TBC**

**_Please comment, Jeremy Cricket is hungry...._ **


	6. Chapter 6

 

They were trying to sort through some paperwork when Sergeant Brown entered the bullpen. “Shraeger, Walsh, call just came in about a kiosk theft. Delahoy and Banks are out on some dog napping, so you two want to take it?” 

 

“Sure,” taking his coffee mug Walsh drained it. 

 

Casey had to agree, rather theft than paperwork any day. Paperwork was not her favorite part of being a police. It was actually very far down the list. 

 

“So, kiosk theft,” she mused when they arrived at the address. 

 

“Yup.” 

 

Casey looked at the remains of a foundation. Short stumps that the kiosk had been standing on, a hose sticking up out of the ground, a couple of cables torn, and literally no sign of the kiosk itself. Given the foundation, it must have been about four times seven yards, it wasn’t the type of thing you put in your pocket. 

 

“Someone stole, literally stole a kiosk, as in the whole building. And all you can say is ‘yup’?” 

 

“Yup.” 

 

“This has got to be the weirdest thing ever,” she shook her head.

 

“An airplane hangar was stolen from a military base once,” Walsh stated calmly. “Let’s see what we can find out, someone should have noticed something.” 

 

It turned out no one had actually seen anything, but some of the residents had heard a truck early in the morning. That wasn’t unusual in itself, but they all said it had sounded like it knocked down a couple of trashcans. Which was really the only reason they had paid any attention to it at all. 

 

Trucks were common, loud noise at four am in the morning were annoying. The owner had gone to open up, and found the kiosk gone. It was pretty much the standard thing, selling candy, soda, a few papers and tobacco. The kind you stumbled over here and there all over the city. It was not uncommon for small time thugs to try to rob them, but it was quite a rare thing for people to steal the whole thing. Walsh might not think it was all that strange, but she did. 

 

It wasn’t exactly easy to find any clues as to where it had gone. The best they could do was to follow the line of noise complaint, and eventually there was an intersection where it was no longer possible to determine which way the truck had gone. 

 

“So, you have a kiosk, full of stuff, where do you take it?” Walsh frowned, looking down the intersection. “What do you even want one for?” 

 

“Sell it?” Casey frowned. 

 

“Yeah, but why take the whole thing then,” he scratched the back of his neck. “I can’t see that being easier.” 

 

“Yeah, that doesn’t sound right,” she agreed. “They could probably have just used a van if they wanted the goods.” 

 

“So even if it does not really make much sense, we can only assume they wanted the whole thing,” Walsh decided. “You know, that kind of does make sense, at least around here.” 

 

“So where do we start looking for a kiosk?” that really had her beat. 

 

“I don’t know.” 

 

“So what are you thinking?” she pressed. He was after all the more experienced one. 

 

“Waffles.” 

 

“Waffles? Seriously?” the way he smiled it was hard to make sure. 

 

“Yeah, I didn’t know I was low, so I didn’t really have anything at home,” he shrugged. “I’m hungry, we could get something to eat while we work on this.” 

 

“You know, if we could find that kiosk, I bet they’d have something,” she teased. It was her one chance to tease him. Usually he was the smartmouth. 

 

“Those plastic wrapped sandwiches?” he made a face. “No thanks, I don’t eat those.” 

 

“You mean there is something you don’t eat?” she tilted her head to the side. “Really? There honestly is something you won’t eat?” 

 

Walsh just raised an eyebrow, “there are plenty of things I don’t eat. Those things don’t even count as food anyway.” 

 

“I’ve seen you eat carrots with blueberry jam,” she shook her head. “What can possibly be so bad you won’t eat it?” 

 

“Plenty of things,” he glanced up the street. “So, you want to grab something to eat?” 

 

“Sure why not,” she wasn’t really hungry, but they had no lead. Sometimes a quick break from it was just what you needed. Clear your head, find a new line of thought. Walsh was also pretty good at multitasking which meant he didn’t stop thinking just because he was eating. 

 

He was one of those guys who seemed to be able to eat anything he wanted, whenever he wanted, and it never showed in a negative way. He also knew a lot of places where the food was actually quite good, which in a way was weird. Why did a guy who seemed to appreciate good food cook the kind of crap he did for himself? 

 

Now he had taken them to a hot dog vendor that really had some good hot dogs, and when Walsh ordered one with everything on it for himself, it was everything but the sink. Though it was hard to be sure, it could be somewhere under the sauerkraut. Casey still felt like they had run into a brick wall concerning the missing kiosk. 

 

Walsh was relating some story or another to her, but she was not really paying that much attention to it. One interesting thing about Walsh was that he could tell you something that seemed completely unrelated, and in many ways it was, but in his mind there was a connection there somewhere. It wasn’t pointless babble, it was a way for him to connect the dots. 

 

She didn’t work quite that way, but she had learned to let him do it. A lot of people underestimated Walsh, because sometimes he really came across as rather daft. He was a police detective who did not know what the periodic table of elements was. He wasn’t dumb though, he really wasn’t. 

 

It’s still one of those days when they have to go home at the end of the day and they have not solved the case. There are a lot of those, even when they manage something it can take up to a week, or a month sometimes. Some really hard cases are open for years. 

 

These are the hard days, when she does not feel like going on a date with Davis because she knows she won’t be good company. Because she’s frustrated and sad, because they are cops, they’re not supposed to let the bad guys win. If the bad guys win, then what is it all for? 

 

She’s not sure if Davis fully understands, because it’s just a kiosk. Only it’s not. It’s someone’s livelihood. It is the means for someone to support a family, and there is no ‘only’ about it. That is what makes it hard, knowing the difference it can make. 

 

She’s feeling tired and frustrated when she comes in the next morning, annoyed with the world for being so unfair. 

 

It’s times like that she thinks Walsh must be the best partner in the world. She’s worked with people who seemed to genuinely care about her before. People she knew had her back, and that she could trust. Walsh though, who’s already deep into the coffee pot and who has taken her mug from her desk and now fills it up as soon as she comes in. Walsh who counts on her to hold her own in every regard, but still is considerate enough to hand her a coffee. 

 

“Thank you,” she takes it, inhaling the aroma and feeling the heat through the ceramic. Taking a nice big swallow of the dark liquid. 

 

Walsh really isn’t a technology guy. He’s not stupid, but he does not care very much about it. There is no television in the diner, not in the front and not in the back. He does not seem to read all that much either, even if he has a small selection of books. It’s very hard to get a read on Walsh from his stuff, as it’s all such a mix. He doesn’t keep a computer in the diner either, while she has both television and computer in her flat. 

 

He does know how to use it though, he can work Google and he can use YouTube. He can turn the thing on and write out reports and generally anything the job demands. He’s scoffed a bit over her fancy phone, as his mostly makes and takes calls, but he does know how to use it if he has to. 

 

He’s doing it now, running some kind of search though she’s not quite sure on what. 

 

“I had an idea, I thought it was worth looking into,” he states as she takes a seat on the corner of his desk. 

 

“Yeah, what was it?” she wanted to know. 

 

“I figured people only really steal something because they want it, well, mostly anyway,” he added almost as an afterthought. “I had some drunks in the diner tried to walk out with the chairs, as they thought it was fun.” 

 

“Let me guess, you didn’t?” 

 

He grinned, “neither did they when they wound up in the holding cell overnight. Anyway, if we’re working on the presumption that whoever took the kiosk wanted it, then why? Why would you want a kiosk?” 

 

“I have no idea,” she shrugged. “I wouldn’t want one in my living room. That’s for sure.” 

 

“Um,” he refilled his coffee mug. The pot was getting low she noted. “There are a lot of people not making a lot of money in town these days. A lot of them steal stuff to sell for money. So, if they had just taken the merchandise I would have said they wanted to sell it. I’m thinking maybe the reason why they took the whole thing would be so they’d have somewhere to sell it.” 

 

“It’s an interesting idea,” she admitted. 

 

“Yeah, and guess what, there is a new kiosk opening up today. I called up and asked, there has been no application for a kiosk there. There is no permission for it, and according to those pencil pushers I’m either drunk, daft or stupid as they claim there is nothing there.” 

 

“So, you think that’s our missing kiosk,” she mused. “It makes sense. A lot more sense than someone redecorating their living room with it.” 

 

“You good to go?”

 

“Let me finish this first,” there is still some coffee left in her mug. Unlike Walsh who just tips his upside down, she can’t drink a mug of coffee in less than thirty seconds. 

 

Walsh had the address, and she had some pictures of the stolen kiosk which should help them make a first identification. 

 

According to Casey there was no doubt. The sign was different, and the paint on it barely dried. The kiosk itself was identical and propped up on cinder blocks. They called the owner who was easily able to make a positive identification. The only thing remaining being to arrange transportation for the kiosk back to its original position. Take the thief into custody and the hardest of all, write a report on the incident. One that hopefully would make sense, though she noticed Walsh wrote it down as a case of shoplifting...  

 

**TBC**

 

**_Please comment, Jeremy Cricket is hungry....._ **


	7. Chapter 7

Authors Note: I am terribly sorry that this dragged on as it did. Our cat, Ser Pounce a Lot got ill, and I had no energy for posting before he was better, which he appears to be now. Thank you all for hanging in there...

**Chapter 7**

Their next game was against the ninth precinct, who were more aggressive than organized in their game. Casey found out what Walsh had meant about them trying to intimidate her. Someone who comes sliding towards you, with metal cleats aimed for your shins is rather intimidating.

They also threw some balls that annoyed Walsh. She couldn’t tell one from the other, and the umpire seemed to think them all okay as well, but Walsh didn’t. He considered them to be a cross between what he called brushbacks and beanball, and apparently that was enough to make him rather angry.

Well, their umpire was a volunteer who probably wasn’t very skilled and couldn’t tell them apart even if he meant well.

The problem was that their intimidation tactics seemed to work at first. Surprisingly the second precinct were more skilled, or perhaps not so surprising. Alvarez had risen to the challenge of coach, but still allowed Walsh to take the lead on most issues. Delahoy was getting better and better as a pitcher, and he threw a mean curveball. Seeing as how the seventh precinct didn’t really have anyone who was a good hitter, that helped to keep the score even.

Banks however kept ducking away from the pitches and Casey in spite of it all found herself flinching several times.

She could tell how Walsh’s irritation grew, to the point where Beaumont squeezed his shoulder at the end of the fifth inning. They were not really taking lead, but they were matching for score quite well. Casey figured that all in all they were doing okay, and if they lost they had at least put up a good fight.

She was beginning to think that it wasn’t just love of baseball that had taken Walsh all the way to the Yankees though, or, it was because he still felt guilty about his own mistakes. He had thrown a few games, not performed his best. She knew he felt bad about it now, so a game that wasn’t fair really seemed to get to him.

When he stepped up to the plate in the seventh inning she thought something would have to give. Walsh held himself stiffly, and the crack when ball met bat was almost deafening to her.

It had been one of those balls, she was sure of it, one of those meant to either scare him or hit him. It wasn’t that she could suddenly tell them apart, but the other team had realized that Walsh was the threat.

He was the best player, so they seemed to focus on him, and Walsh wasn’t one to be intimidated. He wasn’t scared of getting hit or hurt, he wasn’t scared of having the ball thrown at his face.

It was a homerun and Casey almost felt she could kiss him for it. Becuase she saw the look on the pitcher’s face. They had tried to scare him, to win by intimidation, and they seemed unable to believe it had not worked.

She had a feeling she knew how they had won their first game. It wasn’t by being good either, and she was kind of glad to see them out of the running. The home run from Walsh, which the second precinct had rather come to count on. A few good pitches from Delahoy, and a surprisingly good run from Cole sealed the deal. They won the game and moved on.

Their next one was the exact opposite, so scared of it all that Casey wondered how they had even won a single game. She was willing to swear at one point the batter ran before the pitch just to get away from the ball.

Delahoy seemed to take pity on them and threw them a couple of easy ones, but even that didn’t help.

It was pretty much a walk over, they went in, they scored all their points and they walked out victorious. Either Alvarez was truly a good coach, or Walsh had trained them a little too well, or, the other team really sucked.

Casey choose to go with the theory that they sucked. It seemed to make the most sense.

It was also in large parts why she and Beaumont both went along to the diner for some tequila shots afterwards. It seemed like the only sensible thing to do.

Nacho chips, salsa dip. Walsh’s version of enchiladas and lots of tequila. It was nice, really nice.

“I have a question,” Casey mused as she dipped a nacho chip in the salsa. “What is all that stuff about, the whole, ‘who’s on first?’ I mean, if they haven’t figured it out by now, what’s the point? And the rest of it, the whole, ‘third base.’ What is it about?”

“You don’t know Abbott and Costello?” Beaumont asked and she shook her head.

“Alright, we need to introduce you to that,” she decided. “You really need to get a computer here Walsh, I know it’s on YouTube.”

“She has that in her phone,” he shrugged. Serving himself another enchilada.

“So what am I looking for?” hauling up her phone she clicked the YouTube icon.

“Abbott and Costello, who’s on first,” Beaumont told her, sidling up next to her so she could watch over her shoulder. Walsh who had been standing behind the counter hitched himself up to sit on it. Throwing down another tequila shot as he waited for Casey to type it into the searchbar.

She clicked the thumbnail and he smiled as they watched the start of the classic sketch. It was one of the better ones, one that never seemed to get old.

Casey wasn’t sure if it was the sketch or the tequila, but she couldn’t remember the last time she laughed so much. By the time she got to the end, where he didn’t give a darn, she was supporting herself on the counter. She even played it a second time, so at least now she knew what they were talking about.

“We’ve actually won three games,” she mused as she put the phone away. “I thought we’d be lucky if we won one, but we’ve won three.”

Beaumont nodded, and shook the empty basket so that Walsh would refill it with more nacho chips. “This last one wasn’t so hard, but the other two. I really didn’t think we’d get this far.”

“And we’re getting a bigger turnout for the games,” Casey nodded. “So we’ve actually helped raised some money.”

“I might even forgive you for dragging us to that get all that stuff,” Beaumont nudged Walsh. “But you seem to take this very seriously, anyone told you that?”

“I like baseball,” he scooped a large dollop of salsa onto a chip, holding his hand under it to catch the stray drops. “And I was a jock in High School.”

“I have a hard time picturing you as a jock, making out with the Cheerleader,” she shook her head. “Seriously, you was a jock?”

“Believe me, he was,” Casey confirmed. “Ask him about the table of elements and he’ll prove it.”

“That was that cross word puzzle thing, wasn’t it?” he asked.

“Yes, it was,” she confirmed.

“God Walsh, how did you managed to become a detective,” Beaumont laughed easily.

“Started on foot patrol, had a knack for getting into trouble,” he shrugged. “Seemed to come natural.”

“The really scary thing is, that makes sense,” Casey mused.

Beaumont nodded, “around here it does.”

Casey downed her shot, she was beginning to know the way Beaumont looked at Walsh. They wouldn’t kick her out, and not just because it wouldn’t be polite. They wouldn’t mind at all if she stayed, but they were still starting to look at each other in a way that told her they would appreciate some time alone.

“I’m gonna head back now, I’ll see you guys tomorrow.”

“Blueberry pancakes for breakfast if you want some,” Walsh told her, and that was it. He knew why she left, and he appreciated it.

“Just blueberry, or a lot of other weird stuff?” she frowned. “Never mind, I’ll chance it. I haven’t done any grocery shopping this week.”

“Night,” Beaumont nodded, and Walsh waved over his shoulder as he had already started cleaning up the place. Putting everything away.

While Casey had some strong opinions on his cooking, she had to admit he kept the place nice and clean. She had seen some diners and restaurants that wasn’t half as clean as his.

The cooking however, she really had some strong opinions about that.

**TBC**

**_Please Comment, Jeremy Cricket is hungry......_ **


	8. Chapter 8

 

If Casey had been surprised that they won the first, and even second game, that was nothing to say how she felt when they won the next couple of games as well. A lot of it was down to their star player. When you have an ex-pro on your team, it helps. The fact was also that the others improved. With Alvarez not making anything worse, and Walsh working hard to help them improve, they did get better. 

 

They only had one game left, one more game who’d determine who’d get the ten minutes against the Yankees. There was no doubt that they were all getting decidedly nervous. Something that wouldn’t help. It was hard to help it though, seeing how much that would mean to most of them. She didn’t quite know how Walsh felt about it, he was as calm as ever and did not seem to care. 

 

The rest of them though, the rest of them were nervous, edgy, and well, nervous as hell. 

 

As far as charity events went, it was a huge success. They had raised a lot of money, and that felt good, really good. Knowing that you were doing something to help. 

 

She and Beaumont kept making Walsh take them to the batting cage, and that really showed. They had both improved on their number of hits as opposed to their number of swings. They weren’t perfect, but better was good. 

 

They would play against the fifteenth precinct, and all she knew about them was that the bully, Ben Shaw was there. 

 

Walsh called him a bully, and given what she had seen she believed it. He had after all refused to give one of his patrolling officers time off to see a doctor. What kind of mean jerk did that? It was no wonder he and Walsh had not gotten along. Walsh wasn’t perfect, but he was not a bully. He never had been and never could be. He was not cruel for the sake of being cruel and he did not accept that type of things. 

 

Shaw was huge though, he was right about that, so it was pretty clear that Walsh wouldn’t have stood a chance against him if things had gotten physical. The route he had taken, public humiliation, was pretty damn smart. It would have cost Shaw to lose respect, and even the fear. The guys who gave in to him because they were afraid of him. If they saw him being made a fool by a guy like Walsh. Yeah, that would work, that would mean perhaps one or two more of them dared to stand up to him. 

 

Walsh had said that Shaw had been busting his balls, something like that, but she took it too mean it really had been bullying. Probably physical as well as mental. Walsh was fairly strong, so he wouldn’t be the easiest to break, but that did not mean he should have to put up with it. He had just been a young guy who made a mistake and was trying to make it right the best way he knew how. It really wasn’t fair someone should be able to treat him like dirt for it. 

 

Knowing they’d play against him though made her even more determined to win. If they lost to the fifteenth, Shaw would lord it over everyone that he had beaten Jason Walsh. There was no way he’d be a gracious winner, he wouldn’t be able to tell the word even with a dictionary. Walsh could probably handle losing to him, he would have lost before and knew it for what it was, but Casey did not want Shaw to have that over him. 

 

She didn’t want the man to be able to brag about it and use it to scorn Jason. There was no doubt in her mind who was the better man. Jason Walsh was a good guy, a great cop. He cared, he cared about his partners. He cared about the victims and he cared about guys like Marvin. In a world of superheroes he would have been an Avenger, he would have been one of the big guys fighting for the little guys. He wasn’t James Bond in a world of spies, he was the one on the team who’d leap into the furnace for the cause. 

 

Shaw really was just a big bully with a badge, so no, she really did not want to let him win. 

 

Most of the guys from the fifteenth were decent guys who was only playing ball, but even she could tell that Shaw was different. 

 

She wasn’t sure if the others could tell that he had it in for Walsh though. It wasn’t quite as obvious. 

 

Walsh had explained to her what a beanball was, why it was illegal and how it was meant to really hit and injure the batter. It seemed like something only the lowest form of lowlife would use. Especially in what was a game for charity. Shaw wasn’t the pitcher of their team, but Casey saw him talk to the man, saw a thumb jerk Walsh’s way, so she had no doubt Shaw was up to something. Given what she saw when Walsh stepped up to the bat, she had no doubt about what. If she knew anything at all, it was the best attempt at a beanball that the man had been capable off. 

 

Shaw probably thought it would scare him, that he was that easy to intimidate. He was wrong, Casey knew that, so she almost smiled. Almost, becuase while she knew the jerk couldn’t scare Walsh she was still worried that he might hurt him. If they were able to injure Walsh, then it wouldn’t just be the pain. She didn’t like that part either, but that might not be the worst. Shaw would use the victory to mock Walsh, say he wasn’t tough or strong enough and the thought of that was really eating at her. 

 

Walsh wouldn’t back down, that was for sure. Not because playing against the Yankees meant that much to him, after all, he had played with them… 

 

He still had friends on the team, people who cared more about the person he was then about the mistakes he had made. 

 

People who would probably be pissed as hell if they found out what Shaw was trying to do to him. 

 

It was a bit cheesy in a way, but it was the principle of the thing. Walsh wouldn’t back down because if he did so, then Shaw would win. Then he would be continuing like the bully he was, and Walsh would have let him. Knowing he had allowed him to win would eat away at Walsh. 

 

Shaw didn’t stand a chance against the Yankees, he’d get run over. If they knew the kind of man he was, they would go hard on him. She was pretty sure about that. They might not have time to find out though, and Walsh would never tell them, would never ask for help. He was a little too proud, and did not always see himself as deserving of help. 

 

It wasn’t just the beanball, when that failed it seemed to only make Shaw angry. 

 

Cole was the one at the bat in the fifth inning, he was a rather average hitter. There was no need to worry about it going out of the ballpark. He usually didn’t get further than to the infield, but if his balls had one advantage it was that they were rather wobbly and hard to predict. 

 

She wasn’t confident enough to attempt to steal a base, that was much too tricky for her, she left that to Walsh who seemed to master the art. He had done so at times the whole time they had played, and he seemed to be able to make it work. He was obvious attempting to do so now, and she wouldn’t be surprised if he pulled it off. Standing at second base, going for third. Delahoy was at first base together with Banks who really would not dare to attempt a move like it. They really needed to get them in as well. Casey was next to the bat, and she really wasn’t all that good. 

 

She really, really didn’t want Shaw to win, but it wasn’t looking the most hopeful at the moment as they were quite literally battling point for point. If Walsh could advance another base they stood a much better chance. 

 

Cole already had two strikes, but he did hit the ball even if it was clear to Casey it would not go very far. It only needed far enough. 

 

Walsh was running but Casey figured it might be tight, Shaw was the shortstop, and he scooped the ball up from the ground. Running to intercept Walsh. He was not just huge, he was rather fast as well, and obviously aiming for a tag out. Hoping to tag Walsh with the ball before he could reach the base. It looked like he would be able to do it too and Casey held her breath. 

 

That wasn’t what happened though, just as Walsh reached the safety of the plate, Shaw barreled into him. It looked accidental, but there was no way in hell it was. Not the way Shaw grinned, not the way his arm had gone out to catch Walsh in the face as they went down. 

 

It just looked accidental to the umpire who apparently figured it was just a misjudgment and nothing more than that. 

 

That was the way it was, Shaw was getting away with it, and that made Casey really angry. She could tell Beaumont too was seething with barely concealed rage. Walsh was limping, so obviously the impact had done some damage. 

 

When he pulled off the shoe in the dugout he winced, and Alvarez shook his head. “You’re out for the game, we’ll have to do the best we can anyway.” 

 

“No, I’m good.” 

 

“That is not called being good, Walsh,” Beaumont shook her head. “You’re not going to be able to play on that.” 

 

“Just twisted it, slight sprain maybe, I’ll tape it and it’ll be fine,” he shrugged as if it really was that easy. Perhaps it was, Casey wasn’t sure. Walsh wouldn’t quit though, that much she knew for sure. 

 

“Are you sure?” she still asked. 

 

“Yeah, that’s why they invented kinesio tape,” he shrugged. 

 

“If you push yourself too hard, you might not be able to play the next game,” Alvarez pointed out. Unusually insightful Casey thought. 

 

“If I don’t, we won’t have a next game,” he pointed out. That was the truth and they all knew it. Without him, they didn’t stand a chance, with him, they might. 

 

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” Beaumont still crouched down in front of him. “Hand me that tape Casey.” 

 

While Casey found it, Beaumont had eased the sock off. It didn’t really show yet, so taping it probably was a good idea. Neither she nor Beaumont really knew anything about medical tape though, but Walsh told them how to do it. 

 

“There, that’s the best I can do, how does it feel?” Beaumont asked as she put down the roll of tape. 

 

“Good enough,” standing he tested it gingerly. It hurt, but it would bear his weight. That was all he asked for. He could worry about the rest later. Putting the sock and shoe back on again he tried not to limp as he took his place. 

 

Shaw had really managed to do some damage. Not just the ankle, he had a slight headache from it as well. He was also glad for the cup, really glad. Shaw had managed to plant a foot high up on the inside of his thigh. Not high enough for any real damage, but high enough to be really unpleasant. 

 

That more than a desire to win was why he pushed on, not because he really wanted to win, but because he really wanted Shaw to lose. 

 

**TBC**

 

_**Please comment, Jeremy Cricket is hungry......** _


	9. Chapter 9

 

It was clear to both Beaumont and Casey that Walsh had downplayed the injury slightly. He could probably last the game, but the question was whether there would be any lasting damage or not. Casey knew a sprain while considered a minor injury could still be a really troublesome one that took long to heal. If he strained it too much the time it took to fully heal could be months rather than weeks. 

 

They were still going point for point almost exactly even during the seventh inning stretch. If they lost Walsh, they would lose the game, but she did not want to see him suffer for months for it either. 

 

“Hey, maybe you should give up,” Beaumont muttered quietly. Catching his arm, looking really rather concerned. 

 

“No, I’m good,” he shook his head. 

 

“This some sort of stubborn male pride?” she demanded angrily and he paused. 

 

“Maybe, a little. I guess I just don’t like letting bullies win,” he admitted. 

 

“So you’re gonna injure yourself for something that is about pride?” she glared at him. “Like that stupid trophy the two of you were fighting over before?” 

 

“That was not stupid,” now he was getting mad. “I don’t expect you to understand.” 

 

“Good, because I don’t,” she half snapped. “You’re injured, we can manage without you, so why don’t you sit it out? Is this just so you’ll get to say you played the Yankees?  Everyone is fawning over you saying you could have gone pro’, so now you gotta prove it?” 

 

“No, because if I give up he wins,” he took a deep breath. “Look, I don’t care about winning the game okay? I couldn’t care less if I got the honor of playing the Yankees or not. Believe me if you want, it’s not a big deal to me. Letting a bully win is, yeah, it hurts, and yeah, I’m gonna be a pathetic man and whine about it to you later if you want. But I’m not going to let him think he can walk all over me, I’m not going to give him that satisfaction.” 

 

She sighed, “no you won’t. And you wouldn’t be you if you did, but damn, I don’t like it.” 

 

“It’ll be fine,” he soothed and she nodded. She really didn’t have much of a choice. She wanted Walsh to let her handle her own things her own way. So she really had to try and respect the choices he made. 

 

She just really hated to see the way he favored the injured ankle as he took his position at first base, and the way it was clearly painful to run. 

 

Painful or not, he could run, a little awkwardly but steady enough to manage. Casey wasn’t sure if it was gloating or not, and did not care. She could not help the yelp of glee that escaped her as Walsh was able to record an out against Shaw. Wilson who scooped the ball up from the ground where it landed passed it on to Jason who was able to touch first base before Shaw could reach it. 

 

The bully was out, the point was theirs, and she could see Walsh grin all the way from where she was. 

 

In the eighth inning they really had the game turned in their favor. She was starting to wonder if the umpire really didn’t need glasses. Shaw obviously wasn’t happy, glaring at Walsh and even making a few gestures as Walsh stepped up to bat. 

 

They were ahead at the moment, but she wasn’t sure how they would be able to stay that way. 

 

She did however know the gesture Walsh did as he stepped up to the plate. Bat held loosely in one hand, pointing out over towards the centerfield. 

 

 

She knew who Babe Ruth was, she knew how he had pointed out that way when the Yankees were playing the Cubs, and she knew he had hit a homerun. How Walsh could show such confidence when it looked like he could barely walk she did not know. It could work on a psychological level though. That gesture was meant to spoke the other team, and judging by how nervous their centerfielder looked, it could even work. He was after all the one with the pressure on him in a sense. 

 

Walsh swung at the first pitch, and Casey knew as soon as he started that he would hit. So far he had not missed a single time. He was the only one on their team who had never had a strike. He wouldn’t miss, and he didn’t. 

 

It was a homerun, he had called it. She wasn’t sure if he could run that far, but under normal circumstances it would have been a homerun. 

 

Walsh didn’t lose any time either, his gait was loopy and unbalanced. No where near his normal speed, but he was still making fairly good progress. 

 

Casey found herself biting her lip as she watched him round the first base, then the second. Determined, jaw clenched. It would be close, because he wasn’t fast enough with his bad ankle, and probably he knew this because somehow he managed to increase his speed. 

 

It had to be painful but he rounded third and was on the home stretch. 

 

It didn’t seem like it would be enough, and that wasn’t fair. It had been a beautiful shot, it should have been an easy homerun but it wasn’t because of the bully. 

 

Then he threw himself to slide forward, and it probably was a good call. Coming in, touching the plate with just a split second to spare. In safe, rolling over onto his back as he gasped for air. 

 

 

As his partner she should make sure that he was okay, that he hadn’t done any further harm to himself. It was just that she was a little too busy to do so at that time. She had something much more important to do, like cheering. 

 

Delahoy and Banks were actually embracing, though that wasn’t as surprising as it could have been. Beaumont was leering at Shaw who was looking fit to burst with rage. 

 

There was no doubt about it, while it had been a close call the ruling was that he was in safe. The homerun gave them a good lead, and with only one inning left the other precinct really had no hope of winning. 

 

“Okay, that was not as fun as it should have been,” Walsh climbed slowly to his feet, then nearly went down again as Alvarez slapped him on the back. 

 

“You okay?” Beaumont asked him, taking his arm much more gently this time. 

 

“I’ll manage, but I think I need another piece of tape,” he admitted. 

 

“That was beautiful, really beautiful,” she beamed. 

 

“I couldn’t see, how did Shaw look?” he wanted to know. 

 

“Like he was about to burst into flames,” she grinned. “He must really hate you now.” 

 

“I’m okay with that,” he gave a grin. “Give me a hand with the tape?” 

 

“If you’re sure it’ll be okay? Don’t do too much damage to yourself. I want you in at least working order later.” 

 

He grinned at that, “all the important bits will be working. Only one inning to go, if we can just keep the lead he won’t stand a chance.” 

 

“I doubt I can hit a homerun, but I’ll do my best,” she promised. 

 

His ankle looked worse now when they removed the shoe and sock. Swollen and discoloured, but she understood why he didn’t want to give up. At least the tape would offer some support and hopefully make sure it wasn’t too bad. 

 

The team was really coming together and working as a team. Covering up more of his area so he wouldn’t have to, and while they didn’t score another homerun they were able to keep their lead. Casey was proud that she got a good hit, and Banks passed a ball to Walsh so that he could ground out a player without hardly moving at all. Perhaps they weren’t really able to expand their lead, but they did not lose any of it. So at the end of the ninth inning they were the winners. The victorious who would get to play the ten minutes against the Yankees. 

 

Yeah, there was a lot of manly and some not so manly hugging going on in the dugout. Even Alvarez got his share which was saying something. 

 

“We won, we really won!” Casey nearly threw herself at Beaumont and Walsh. “I can’t believe we really won.” 

 

“But we did,” Beaumont was smiling. “We did it, and that jerk looks fit to be tied.” 

 

“Good,” he stated with no little amount of heartfelt satisfaction. “That makes me very happy.” 

 

“Well done man!” Delahoy in passing slapped him on the shoulder and he steadied himself against Beaumont. 

 

“That was crazy,” Banks shook his head. “We are actually going to go up against the Yankees. That is really crazy.” 

 

“It is a real honor,” Cole stated humbly and Beaumont smiled at him, slapping him on the shoulder. 

 

“Alright everyone,” Alvarez called. “Showers first, celebration later. The first round is on me.” 

 

The cheers to that were almost as loud as the cheers at Walsh’s homerun. 

 

“Shower first, then doctor for you,” Beaumont stated, nudging Walsh. 

 

“Yeah, probably not a bad idea,” he mused. As much as he hated the thought of going to a hospital, a doctor of any kind, he knew he rather had to. He still did not think it was worse than a sprain, but running on it hadn’t done it any favors even with the kinesio tape. He meant it when he said he didn’t care that much about playing against the Yankees, but it would be fun. Also, while it made him feel a bit egotistical, the others would probably not score a single point against them on their own. 

 

In these amateur games his advantage had been that he had been a pro. Against the Yankees, his advantage would be that he knew them. He knew their strengths and weaknesses. Well, some of them anyway. There were a few new ones now he had not played against. It would be fun, and he would like to do it if he could. 

 

“We’ll go with you,” Casey told him smiling. “Hold your hand, tazer you if you try to run.” 

 

“Thanks,” he said dryly. While he appreciated it, he really did, her wit was not what he appreciated right then. He was almost glad to head to the shower, because apparently they thought teasing him about the doctor was a good idea. 

 

He wasn’t so sure if he agreed as he stripped. Leaving the tape, it would hold for a quick shower and it was better to keep it at the moment. Even with it, the foot and ankle was swollen enough he wasn’t sure he’d be able to get the shoe back on after. 

 

Delahoy gave a low whistle, “that looks pretty nasty.” 

 

“How did you even run on that?” where Delahoy was, Banks usually wasn’t all that far behind. 

 

“Practice,” he mused, wincing, 

 

“And what the hell is that?” Banks suddenly pointed to his groin area. 

 

“That’s a man’s private parts,” Delahoy stated. “Asking is kinda gay.” 

 

“That a footprint?” gay or not, a footprint did not belong in someone’s groin. 

 

“What the hell?” Delahoy obviously hadn’t expected that as Walsh inspected the bruise. The shape of a footprint, with angry red marks in it after the cleats. 

 

“That’s why I like the jock strap,” he mused. “Bastard tried to kick me in the balls.” 

 

“He wasn’t that far from it, you should probably have someone look at that,” Banks suggested. 

 

“Man, you’re really gay,” Delahoy pulled him away while Walsh gave a low chuckle. He didn’t plan on that. It would just mean more time with the doctor and that was not something he wanted to do. If he had to go there, he’d be as quick about it as he could. It might be easier if it was for a case, or for himself, but that did not mean he was okay with it. It just meant he was able to grit his teeth and bear it. 

 

He was right too, it hurt far too much to get the shoe on again, so he ignored it. Stepping outside the changing room to find Beaumont and Casey already waiting for him. Looking far too pleased at the concept of dragging him away. 

 

The waiting was not good, a nurse came to ask him if the pain was too bad, looking worried. Naturally Casey informed her that in his case it was hospital fright and not pain that had him pale and sweating. Beaumont wasn’t holding his hand, but she was sitting with her leg pressed against his. Grounding him and offering support in a discrete way. 

 

Apparently they felt sympathetic towards slightly petrified patients, or they were afraid he’d faint from fear while waiting as he was taken to an exam room shortly after. X-ray showed no fracture, just a rather nasty sprain. He was told to keep it wrapped, elevated and ice it regularly for about twenty four hours. Keep off it and use crutches while it healed. His question if it should be okay to use it in about a week seemed to confuse them when it came from someone still covered in cold sweat from merely being in the exam room. 

 

At least they didn’t absolutely forbid it, just advised against it unless he had to. He figured that meant that if he did everything correctly and really did stay off it, then taped it he should be able to play the next game. 

 

Beaumont was indecently amused by the fact that he was on crutches when he was returned to them. He did however like her promise of her tending to him once they were alone. Even if Casey covered her ears as she practically purred the promise. 

 

They did stay rather late at the Apolo, once they arrived, they instantly had a couple of shots put in front of them, with the declaration that they were far behind everyone else. By the time they were caught up, all they really wanted to do was sleep. Going to the diner, tumbling into bed and actually doing nothing but sleeping. 

 

**TBC**

 

**_Please comment, Jeremy Cricket is hungry....._ **


	10. Chapter 10

 

To say that Beaumont wasn’t exactly happy with him the next morning was something of an understatement. She had been tired enough not to notice the footprint on his thigh the night before, which was to say something. In the morning though when she found it, and forced him to admit he had neglected to mention that at the hospital, yeah, not happy. His view on it, that it was just a bruise and that he was going to take it easy anyway, so what did it matter, did not really help matters. 

 

It had to be some sort of female reasoning, but he wasn’t quite sure how it worked. Shaw had aimed for his balls, given him a really impressive footprint complete with cleats, and had in the end been the one bested. So what did it matter? 

 

Shrugging and saying it wasn’t important apparently wasn’t the right way to go. According to her, that was a really stupid guy thing, and for a while there he figured she’d leave him to it. Then she seemed to figure that he was a stupid guy, and that just couldn’t be helped. She said something about not being able to trust him to look after himself and stayed. 

 

As far as days after games went, he had had worse, a lot worse. Staying in bed, doing what he was supposed to for once. Watching movies and stuff on the tiny screen of a laptop while he kept ice on the ankle and thigh, cuddling when he didn’t. It wasn’t bad, it wasn’t bad at all. 

 

He wasn’t overly fond of the crutches, who was? Showing up for work with them though made him feel more vulnerable, in their line of work showing a weakness generally wasn’t a good idea. Sergeant Brown instantly put him on desk duty, meaning, unless it was the end of the city, he’d be stuck in the office no matter what. Of course since the game was nowhere near forgotten there was still a lot of backslapping going on. He figured that would last a bit longer yet. After all, they would get their ten minutes against the Yankees, no one was likely to forget that. It was after all what most of the break room chatter appeared to be about. There was also a lot of them who asked if he’d be able to play, sounding worried. 

 

He mostly just shrugged and said he figured he would. He wasn’t as fond of all the attention as some probably thought he would be, and a lot of the attention was focused on him. Delahoy who had apparently gone for a mug of coffee just as he came in dropped the pot on his desk while he tried to figure out a way to prop up the crutches against the desk without having them crash to the floor if someone as much as looked that way. 

 

Eventually he gave up and figured the filing cabinet was close enough. Shoving a cardboard box in under his desk he figured that would do for keeping his foot elevated. 

 

He had to admit he was not a fan of enforced desk duty. Not in any way or form, and it only took about three hours before he was starting to itch. Everytime he even spun his chair around there seemed to be someone there telling him to stay put and asking what it was he wanted. It wasn’t like he couldn’t grab the crutches and go to the breakroom. Crutches were fine the way he saw it, annoying yes, but fine. He wouldn’t put any weight on his foot while using crutches. It was kind of why they had given the damn things to him in the first place. 

 

Casey went off to check on something she apparently did not see the need to inform him fully about. Sergeant Brown had said that if she needed backup on the legwork one of the others would be going with her, so yes, he was stuck at his desk. 

 

He had just pushed his chair back from the desk when Beaumont cleared her throat in an almost threatening manner. 

 

“It’s lunch, I’m hungry…” he hated how pitiful he sounded. Like a little boy being chastised, like he knew he used to sound when he was made to stand in the corner or sit on his bed when his mother was punishing him. 

 

“You ready for lunch?” she turned to face Cole who had the desk opposite her. 

 

“Yeah, I just need to wrap this up, but it won’t take a minute,” he nodded. “We can bring you something Walsh.” 

 

“You want Chinese or pizza?” she folded her arms across her chest in a way that made him pout. His mother could probably take lessons from her, and he still thought she was one of the scariest people he had ever known. 

 

“I don’t know,” he hadn’t gotten that far. “Anything’s fine I guess if you’re gonna bring a doggy bag.” 

 

“I think the special today was that scary beef, so I think we’ll make it pizza,” she decided. 

 

“Sounds good to me,” Cole decided. “What toppings do you want?” 

 

“Nothing they’ll want to make, we’ll get him something edible,” Beaumont stated as she grabbed her jacket. 

 

That was slightly insulting, but he figured it was best to ignore it if he wanted to get fed at all. It could be hard to tell with Beaumont. She was not beyond retaliation. 

 

It didn’t take them long, there was a place they favored nearby who had a pretty nice lunch buffet with different pizza toppings. It was quick and handy for someone who might not know when or if they’d get time for lunch. You could pop in and grab a couple of slices of whatever was ready. It was handy, and by now the owner knew most of them by sight. 

 

Cole carried the box when they came back, and Beaumont had three bottles of sodas. Heading to the break room for a plate. “There you go,” slipping three slices onto the plate and depositing it on his desk together with a soda. 

 

“Thanks,” she had at least taken his favorite out of the available options. 

 

“We’re not gonna let you starve, no need to look so glum,” she teased. 

 

“Sorry, it was nice of you, I just hate being stuck here,” he sighed. He could be that honest with her. She understood, she would feel much the same way.

 

Now she shrugged, “it’s only for a week, and, if you had had the sense to quit after he tackled you. You might not have been stuck on desk duty.” 

 

That made him pout, she knew very well why he hadn’t quit. 

 

“Kinda glad you didn’t though, we would never have won without you,” Cole stated with his normal wide eyed innocence. 

 

Right now Jason really appreciated it, it made him feel like at least someone understood and appreciated his effort. Beaumont probably understood more than she let on though. She just did not like letting that on. Sometimes he could swear she did it just because she enjoyed making him sweat. 

 

“Yeah, you’re a real hero,” her tone was teasing, but when she walked past his desk, she squeezed his shoulder. 

 

He thought Sergeant Brown gave him some odd looks, but he had no idea why and he wasn’t really sure if he cared. It could be anything, Brown hated not having all the facts. He did not like anything that was in any way a mystery, and well, Walsh wasn’t a guy who liked to share. He did when asked, generally, but not before. He had been more open with Casey than he had with anyone else in a long time. For some reason, it came natural with her. She was very open about herself, but knew to respect your privacy. She had also told him that Brown had asked her to find out what his secret was, yeah, he’d wonder even more now. Having a cop who could really hold his own on the baseball field… Brown was probably tearing his hair trying to work it out. 

 

It was kind of funny in a way, in a twisted sort of way. Sergeant Brown like most of them, was something of a Yankee fan who had seen more than one game at the stadium and most of them on TV. There was no way he hadn’t seen at least a couple of the games he played during the course of his contract. Even now everything was just a short google search away. Some of the details, a lot of it actually, had been kept out of the media. Their coach had been a great guy, so he had figured it was best to come clean to him. Tell him what he had done in the minor league. Yeah, he hadn’t exactly been happy, who would have been? There had been a few words said, about how stupid it had been and how guys like that never gave you up once they had you. 

 

He had been twenty two though, young and inexperienced, and that meant you made mistakes. Big ones, small ones, some people got through it okay, others, not so much. Which was one thing the coach told him. Insisted it wasn’t his fault, what had happened, that they killed his girlfriend. They probably hadn’t meant to go so far as to kill her either, that part was just, well, fucked up. 

 

So the coach got behind him, told the press that after what happened to his girlfriend he needed a break, and that the team stood behind the decision. Told him that if he was ever ready to come back they’d be willing to give him a shot at it. 

 

It had been a rather hard time, there had been a few really bad days where he never really figured out what was going on. Eventually it came to a police detective living in a diner, and he was pretty happy with that. 

 

Playing baseball again was great, a little bit of a risk. One of them might get curious enough to look deeper into it. After all, they were all supposed to be detectives, and it really was true. All it would take for them to find out about it was really to google his name. He had checked, there were pictures, news stories, game results. All of it was on the net. 

 

The moment Casey came back she was called into Sergeant Brown’s office, and it might be paranoia, but he had a feeling that it had something to do with him. Brown had always wondered, but after Kowalski it had sort of escalated. 

 

He still did not know why the two of them had been paired together, it hadn’t been the best pairing in the history of the precinct. They got along okay, mostly, but they did not understand each other and that sometimes made it hard to work together. Kowalski scoffed at the diner, complained about the stupidity while he found it hard to understand why a cop would involve himself in so many shady things. 

 

It hadn’t been as bad as being paired with Shaw, that had been really bad. That had been a bully and a green cop who didn’t know what to do about it at first. It had even been one beating in the locker room, a battle of milk, and then a transfer. He always figured they transferred him because they knew how badly Shaw hated him after the milk and figured it was the only way to keep him alive. 

 

Casey came back and dropped into her chair tiredly. “You have no idea how lucky you are.” 

 

“Rough day?” if she thought desk duty was lucky, then it would have to have been. 

 

“You have no idea,” she sighed. “And you owe me big for it.” 

 

“I don’t even know what it is,” he pointed out. 

 

“True,” she nodded. “But I do, and trust me, you owe me.” 

 

“Alright,” he could live with that. “Blueberry pancakes?” 

 

“And nothing weird in them, I mean that,” she gave him a half glare. 

 

“I’ll see what I can do.” 

 

**TBC**

 

_**Please comment, Jeremy Cricket is hungry..... :D** _


	11. Chapter 11

 

Apparently making breakfast was something Beaumont had planned to ban him from, but for that he had a good argument. She hated to cook and they both wanted to eat. In the end they compromised.    
  
He hitched himself up to sit on the countertop, and she handed him the things he needed. Whisking up a batch of blueberry cupcakes to go with the pancakes, no weird additions. For one thing he had promised Casey, for the other he couldn’t reach them and Beaumont refused to hand them to him when he asked for them. 

 

As far as he could tell, Casey had told her that she would come for the pancakes, and had made her promise.    
  


There were times when he doubted the wisdom of having a girlfriend and partner that were both female. 

 

When Casey came in, the cupcakes were cooling on the rack, and the batter was ready to go into the pan. That was as far as he could take it, given Beaumont wouldn’t even let him do that much. Really, he had crutches, did they think they were just for decoration? He could easily balance himself on one foot while flipping a few pancakes. It wasn’t exactly rocket science. 

 

He might be fool enough to argue with one woman though, but never two at the same time. He was not that stupid no matter what the common belief was. He’d leave that for Alvarez. 

 

Desk duty was no more exciting that day than it had been the day before. It was just an endless number of forms and documents, and brief pause when Leo and Delahoy came in dragging a perp dressed like a corn dog between them. Bickering about something or another, but by then he was almost too bored to care. 

 

By the third day he figured desk duty should be re-labeled as a cruel and unusual punishment. It did not help that he was running out of deskable duties to perform. He was pretty much out of paper work, and he had thought that was impossible. 

 

By now the general sympathy for anyone injured had started fade as well. Which meant there was a ‘make fun of Walsh who can’t leave his desk,’ act in place. It was however combined with the ‘make sure that Walsh for no reason attempts to leave his desk,’ which was still in place. He was pretty sure that was only because they knew they needed him for the game or it should have been possible to get up and take a short trip to the break room, or to the restaurant. 

 

At least since Casey had called and asked him about a license plate there had been five minutes where he actually felt useful. 

 

Annoyingly she had made the arrest just a few minutes after he called her back. She went to the adress, the car was parked right outside and the guy was home. 

 

He was even contemplating filling out the annual survey that everyone ignored. The only reason he did not was because they’d probably send him to the psychiatrist if he did, to find out if he had finally gone over the deep end. Everyone ignored it because it was two hours of repetitive questions with incredibly poor grammar construction. 

 

He was still looking at it when Banks entered the bullpen. “Box of doughnuts in the breakroom, one each,” he declared loudly. “Otherwise free for anyone wants one.” 

 

“Yeah, what kind are they?” Delahoy leaned back in his chair. “Jelly?” 

 

“Jelly, chocolate icing and sprinkles,” Banks beamed happily while Walsh shifted in his seat. 

 

Keeping the foot elevated was helping, but a cardboard box was not the most comfortable way to do so. Right now though he focused on every uncomfortable lump in the seat of his chair, everything, trying to ignore them. It might be a classic stereotype, but he was a cop and he liked doughnuts. It wasn’t a crime. 

 

“That reminds me, my wife made some chocolate chip cookies last night, I put them in there as well,” Alvarez spoke up. So someone had gotten him to get in on it, and Walsh gritted his teeth. 

 

“Chocolate chip you say?” now Banks sounded eager. 

 

“Oh yes,” Alvarez nodded. “She said they were triple chocolate chip fudge, they’re delicious.” 

 

Well, it explained why Eric Delahoy who never used the filing cabinet for anything but hiding things from Alvarez had suddenly needed some files in it half an hour ago. While rifling through it, he had moved the crutches far enough away it would be both annoying and a little painful to get them. Not that he could not, but there was no way he could do it before someone could object. 

 

This, with the cookies and doughnuts was all for him. It was all part of the ‘make fun of Walsh in any way possible.’ Naturally they would all from time to time be munching doughnuts and cookies now, and anyone he asked to get one for him would either be too busy to do so right then, ‘terribly sorry.’ Or, as they had just gotten one, they wouldn’t want anyone to think they were being pigs, and they were sure someone else would get him one in just a minute. If he managed to call out to someone just heading there, they’d bring him a glass of water or something and claim they had misheard. Beaumont and Cole were out as well as Casey. They would have been his only hope. Cole would have thought it was unchristian and would not have approved, so he would not have minded to go fetch one of each for him. Beaumont would have teased him, pretended like it was too much work, but she would have done it. Casey wouldn’t have found it as amusing as the others did, she would have been more inclined towards sympathy and would have made sure he got his share. 

 

Without them though it was best to pretend that he hadn’t heard it, not that anyone would believe it. 

 

He could not even claim he was going for the bathroom, as that was the other way down the hall. Even if he managed to turn that way, he’d have to pass by Sergeant Brown’s office, and he would naturally be on guard for just that. He was in on it, there was no doubt about that. 

 

Over the course of three hours he tried to pretend he had no idea about it, that he could not hear them munching from time to time. During that time he might have been hitting the keys a little harder than needed as he typed out a document. He might have broken the nib off his pencil a few times as well. 

 

For a brief moment he pondered how long it would take to break it down to something too short to write with, and pretend he was going for a new one. No one would buy it though, naturally. 

 

Before he could even try, Delahoy dropped three of the yellow things on his desk with a grin. 

 

“They don’t make them like they used to,” he grinned. “Should last you through the day though.” 

 

“Thanks,” he told him dryly. 

 

Then Casey came in, cramming the last of a cookie into her mouth as she did so, holding a doughnut with the most delicious looking chocolate icing on it on a napkin in her hand. 

 

“Are you in on it to?” he demanded, not even trying to keep the annoyance out of his voice. 

 

“Man, you are grumpy,” she frowned as she sank down behind her desk. “Woke up on the wrong side this morning?” 

 

“No,” he tried to ignore the amused snorts around the room as Casey took a bite out of her doughnut. 

 

“Man, these are great,” she beamed. “And those cookies, awesome. How can you possibly even be grumpy at all when you’ve had that all day? Or wait, is this like some kinda kids on too much sugar thing? You’ve been eating yourself sick on them or something?” 

 

He dropped his head to his desk with a solid thunk that improved nothing at all and even made his head hurt. “There is no way you can be that naive….” 

 

“What?” she blinked confused. 

 

“Okay, obviously you don’t know how this work,” he sighed as he straightened up again. “They put them in there, and made sure I knew, because they won’t let me go out there. The whole point is to not let me have any.” 

 

“You haven’t?” she blinked confused and he shook his head. “But, have you asked them to get you one?” 

 

“No, because they won’t,” he sighed. “This is how it works. If I ask Delahoy to get me one, he’ll be too busy, Leo will be only too happy, then come back with water or some shit. If I get up to get one, they’ll tell me to sit back down. They even moved those,” he jerked his thumb over his shoulder to the crutches. “So no, there is no point, I’ve not had a single one while they have taken every opportunity to shove them in my face, and give me that thing, please,” he gestured towards the half doughnut that was still on her desk. 

 

“Wait, I think there’s still a couple left,” she pushed up from her chair, there was, and a fresh pot of coffee so she filled a mug with a dash of milk the way Walsh prefered it if he had a choice. Then taking a napkin she put two of the cookies on it, it was a pretty large napkin, and one of the doughnuts. 

 

“There you go,” she put it down in front of him, looking almost ashamed. “I didn’t know they had done that. I wouldn’t have said anything if I had.” 

 

“Mess with the guy stuck at his desk, makes me fair game” he shrugged. “Thanks Casey.” 

 

“You’re welcome,” looking up she saw the disappointed look on Leo’s face. Oh yeah, they had been messing with him the whole day about it. That really was kind of cruel, and the look on Jason’s face now was of pure bliss as he bit into his cookie, and she slipped the last half of her doughnut in front of him as well. 

 

“Really?” he had a way of looking so damn cute when he did that. Innocent and insecure, younger than he was, as if he found it hard to believe that someone would be that nice to him. 

 

“I’m a girl, I’m supposed to watch my figure, right?” she shrugged. Making light of it was something she had learned from him. 

 

“Don’t have to, but really, thanks,” he had already finished off his, and was now making short work on the last half. 

 

“Partners, right?” she mused. “How about, I mess with you when I can, and watch your back so they can’t?” 

 

“You’re getting the hang of it,” he grinned, happily. 

 

She really was, the next day she texted him and asked if they had done anything similar while she was out. Given the fact that there was a plate of brownies in the breakroom, he declared they had. This time he had actually tried to get to them, his crutches was now on the other side of the room. They had been moved so many times to make sure he did not. He figured it was payback because Casey had eventually given him the doughnut and cookies the day before. Beaumont had given him a sympathetic smile, and at least fetched his crutches for him so he could go to the bathroom. 

 

As soon as he got back though they had been moved again. 

 

Then Casey came back, a small box of confectioners in her hand. From one of the better reputed bakeries in town. It contained not only a brownie and two doughnuts, but a cupcake with the fluffiest icing he thought he had ever seen. A chocolate chip cookie big enough to use for plate, and she was grinning widely as she casually put it down on his desk. 

 

Delahoy did not look happy, Leo even less so, and he grinned. Feeling an immense satisfaction that had nothing to do with the doughnut, and it was probably the best doughnut he had ever had. 

 

“They are not happy with you right now,” he mused. 

 

“I don’t care,” she grabbed the other doughnut. “I thought it was only fair.” 

 

“You’re officially the best partner I’ve ever had,” he decided. 

 

“Thank you,” she gave a cocky grin and he couldn’t quite help a light chuckle. 

 

Casey was a little surprised later when Beaumont put a hand on her shoulder, “well done,” she stated. 

 

“You let them do that?” she wanted to know. It didn’t seem right. She and Walsh were after all together. Sure, according to Davis she wasn’t exactly great at relationships, but still. 

 

Beaumont only shrugged. “I don’t, everyone will know, I undermine him, and so on. It’s complicated.” 

 

“Yeah must be,” she decided. Too complicated for her taste. 

 

“You take good care of him, thank you,” that was heartfelt. It was obvious. The two of them had a very odd relationship, but it seemed to work. Given that she had a very complicated relationship with Davis, that did not work quite so well, she wasn’t sure if they didn’t have the right idea about it. 

 

She had offered to give him a ride home from work, frowning confused when she found out the crutches was behind Delahoy’s desk, but apparently that was a part of the ploy to keep him away from the treats in the breakroom. She really should not be surprised about that. 

 

Walsh also made her do a stop on the way to the diner, at the sport goods store. Apparently they had a large assortment of kinesio tape, and various form of braces and supports. 

 

“It’s a lot better,” he stated as he picked up a brace for his ankle that looked rather weird to Casey. “I’ll manage ten minutes, but with this, it won’t really be any worse afterwards.” 

 

“Is it going to be strange for you to play against them?” she wanted to know. 

 

“A little maybe, I haven’t told them,” he grinned. “I thought it would be more fun not to. What about you? Doesn’t your dad go to a lot of the games?” 

 

“He’ll be there, and I haven’t told him,” she mused. “I don’t think he’s going to like it.” She really didn’t think he would, and Walsh seemed to be mostly amused by that. 

 

_TBC_

 

_**Please comment, Jeremy the Cricket is hungry....** _


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ACTUAL IMPORTANT NOTE
> 
> Here it is, the along waited game against the Yankees, and here is an actually important note. 
> 
> To avoid writing anything, that might in anyway relate to a real person, I have NOT used any names of any real player, New York Yankees or not. None of the players names are real players. I have instead followed a pattern, and I let me know what you think of it. :D 
> 
> Also, please, check the note at the end of this chapter.

 

Casey was the one who helped him with the kinesio tape just before the game, and figured that was another thing that made his relationship with Beaumont complicated. 

 

There was also the chance that Beaumont was a little too nervous to do a good job with it. She was very nervous, they all were, except Jason Walsh who appeared to be completely unaffected. They had been assigned a small changing room in the stadium, and by now most of them were pacing or sweating. While Walsh only focused on making sure that the tape was giving his ankle the optimal support before fitting the brace over it all. 

 

Cole was praying, Banks was pacing. Delahoy tried to look like he wasn’t nervous but was failing. Alvarez kept telling everyone to just keep calm and do their best, while getting everyone agitated and nervous by running around. 

 

Beaumont sat on the bench with her hands clenched tightly in her lap. 

 

“How can you not be nervous?” she finally demanded of Walsh who was lacing up his shoe. “You don’t look nervous at all.” 

 

“It’s not that big a deal,” he shrugged. 

 

Beaumont gaped, looking at him as if he had gone crazy. “Not that big a deal? This is the New York Yankees.” 

 

“Yeah, and we’re not going to win,” he shrugged. “Look, we’ve done good, but we are so badly outmatched here, this is real baseball, while we have a bunch of people who just happened to be marginally better than the rest. We go in there, we know we’re gonna lose, and no one expects anything else. You hit one ball, make one good pitch, that’s about all anyone expects from us. And that we can do.” He gave her a grin. “Besides, they might decide to be nice and go easy on us. After all, we’re their warm up.” 

 

“I don’t know why, but that does make me feel better,” she mused. “At least a little better.” 

 

“Good,” he looked at the rest of them, the way they looked now, half of them might pass out from fright before they even came out on the field, so he gave a wolf whistle, instantly having their attention on him. “Okay, listen up. Those guys aren’t gonna play a serious game against us. They’re doing this for laughs and charity. They’re not gonna try to slaughter you, so there’s no need to be scared. No one is gonna expect more from us than hitting one or two balls, these guys are ‘pros. We’re cops, they do this every day, we don’t. So don’t worry about it, it’s just for fun.” 

 

He couldn’t be sure if he got through to them or not, but at least they didn’t have to pick anyone of the ground and get the smelling salt as they headed out. 

 

The stands were already filled, the noise a constant rumble, and he paused for a moment. This was something he knew, something he had lived. It was something amazing, and the others looked to be in awe as they slowly moved forward. Casey touched his arm and he nodded. 

 

This wasn’t his life anymore, not really, but for ten minutes, it would be. 

 

There were greetings and handshakes before they started. Warm and friendly greetings from the players while they promised to go easy on them. 

 

“Holy shit!” he grinned at the reaction when they recognized him, and suddenly there was a lot of elbow jabbing going on, and fingers pointed at him. At least no one said anything, but then most of them knew he was keeping it quiet, so while they were surprised he figured they would respect that. 

 

At least the friendly greeting seemed to calm his colleagues down, which was a really good thing. This was for fun, it wasn’t a real game. With just ten minutes it couldn’t be. 

 

The national anthem was something else, something beautiful that seemed to take him back in time to when he was twenty. When he was young and believed in the dream above all else. It was something you never could fully put behind you. 

 

Then things were real again. 

 

He clapped Beaumont on the shoulder, and nudged Casey as they took positions. Hoping they would keep calm and remember their jobs as he took his place at first base. 

 

Oh, they were outmatched alright, there was no doubt about it. If the Yankees played at their absolute best, they would wind up looking like the biggest fools on the planet. It was like they said though, it was for fun, a warm up game. For laughs and a good cause. 

 

That was for the rest of the team though, they wouldn’t go easy on him, that much he knew. There wasn’t one of them who would. For one thing it would be slightly insulting, and for the rest they just wouldn’t. 

 

He still nodded to Casey to give Delahoy the sign for a curve ball. Not that it did them much good. Delahoy was good, but not near enough. The ball went all the way to Banks who was still terrified of dying and did not dare to try and catch a ball from a pro player. It bounced to the ground quite a bit from him, and by the time he had passed it on to Walsh there was no going. 

 

They did manage to score on a tag out, but only because the guy was too busy looking at Beaumont to really pay attention to what he was doing. 

 

Even pros can be a little too interested in a beautiful girl for their own good, and Jason happened to think that Beaumont was very beautiful. 

 

That was just about it though, they did okay, fine the way he saw it. Not all the cheers were for the real team, some was for them. If people cheered them, then they were doing pretty damn great in his humble opinion. 

 

Their five minutes was up, and they changed sides. They had drawn for the batting order, but Banks had demanded to go last, hoping it wouldn’t come to his turn. He claimed it was bad enough to have other cops throw balls at him, he wasn’t going to risk it. Walsh did mention that the chance of a cop throwing a bad ball that actually hit him was much greater than the chance that a pro did it. 

 

Banks still demanded to be last, and they left it at that. Cole was out on the three strike call, Beaumont got a hit, but it wasn’t much good. Casey, much the same, she managed to bunt the ball, but it never got anywhere to do any good. Even so, the hits were enough to make the crowd cheer loudly, and so did a lot of the guys they were playing against. 

 

Stepping up to the plate, bat in hand, that was almost even better than stepping out on the field and he took a deep breath. His ankle had been giving him unhappy twinges, but he easily ignored them now. This was why he had played, this was why he had lived this life. 

 

The moment when the ball was his, the split second thrill when he swung and knew he would hit. 

 

Ranger was pitching, which was about as perfect as it could get. The two of them got along great and had done a fair deal of working together. His best ball was the two-seam fastball, which was also one of Jason’s speciality to hit. Mostly because they had spent so much time working on it together. Having Ranger throw what Jason was good at, had forced Ranger to improve on it, and in short succession he had gotten better himself. 

 

Ranger would never go easy on him, but he might just figure that he was out of practice, which was true, and thus make it his signature pitch. 

 

He couldn’t quite help smiling to himself when he knew for sure, tightening his grip of the bat just slightly. 

 

It was a perfect hit, the best one through the whole series of games they had played over the course of the summer. It was the kind you felt in your whole body, where the crack of the ball against the bat vibrated through him and was loud in his ears. 

 

  
  

 

He only glanced before he ran. Earlier in the week he would never have been able to run with the speed he did now. Adrenaline can be a wonderful thing though, endorphin and dopamine doesn’t hurt either. 

 

He rounded first base knowing he was doing great, the cheers a dull noise in his ears, and it wasn’t just the crowd, the crowd he almost tuned out. It was the Yankees he listened to. The guys he had played with and who now cheered him on. Their cheers told him how he was doing. Yeah, they were working against him, they wanted him out, he wanted in. That was how it was, they would do everything they could to stop him, and he would give everything he had to make sure they did not. 

 

This was what he loved, rounding second base and knowing he was still doing good. That he still had time to make it. 

 

Third base was getting tight, but he knew he could do it. You had to know you could do it, or you didn’t. You had to know you wouldn’t fail, or you would. 

 

Sometimes it really was as easy as that. 

 

You gave all you had, all the way, and then at the last stretch you gave more. 

 

He could feel the tension thick around him, this was the moment where it all came to an end. Do or didn’t, this was it, and he was sliding face first towards the plate, hands outstretched to grab it. Fingers stretching for any extra millimetre there was. 

 

Touching the plate. 

 

Only then did the world around him start to come around again, as he rolled over onto his back, fingers still on the plate, drawing a shaky breath. Grinning because he made it. 

 

If this was the last game he ever played, a ten minute bonus for charity, then it was still good. One that wasn’t tainted by guilt so thick it made him sick afterwards. One where he knew he had really done good. 

 

None had really expected them to stand the slightest chance, had figured most would go out on the third strike call, but they had points. They had a home run. 

 

Sergeant Brown would go mad trying to figure out how one of his cops, a detective who did not know the table of elements, had scored a homerun against the Yankees. 

 

He climbed to his feet, there wasn’t much time left, but it did not really matter. The points did not really matter, for the second precinct it was still a win, and one that the fifteenth precinct, particularly one Ben Shaw would go mad over. 

 

Ten minutes isn’t much of a game, and the Yankees were still the winner, but going by the amount of hugging and backslapping from the cops you would never know it. 

 

He thought Alvarez would burst something when the guys came over to congratulate them, on the loss, which was amusing in a way. 

 

“Fucking unbelievable Walsh,” Dodger, the shortstop breathed into his ear, slapping his shoulder as he went past him. 

 

He snagged Brewer quickly, “go tell her that she did a good job, catcher to catcher.” The guy nodded, heading for Casey and he grinned. She’d like that, something to lord over her mother. 

 

He cheerfully threatened Jay to stay the hell away from his girl, and grinned at the whistle as he took in Beaumont. Still grinning as he naturally headed that way to hug her and lift her off the ground. Beaumont even accepted it, far too excited to mind. 

 

Adrenaline was slowly starting to fade, and that wasn’t so good, because that came with the loss of something he had loved. Something that had lead weights in his shoes as he shuffled to the side. 

 

Yeah, it had been a great show, one that really had made him happy. He couldn’t help missing it though, and knowing that it was the last time sucked. 

 

“You okay,” Casey had made her way over to him, after having been enthusiastically assaulted by Jay in the friendliest way possible. Oh yeah, he liked girls that one. At least he was smart enough to figure women weren’t to be underestimated in any way, he respected them, he just figured the reason they looked so lovely was so that you’d hug and kiss as many of them as possible. 

 

“I’m good, just gonna miss this,” he breathed. 

 

“Maybe they’ll let you visit sometime, for a play date,” she mused. She had heard hushed talk, but she wasn’t going to tell him that. 

 

“Wanna get a chilli dog?” They would naturally watch the game, and they had been given some great seats. The best in the house pretty much. A chilli dog sounded like a great idea to take the sting out of it. Gorge on baseball food to forget the sting. 

 

“Sure,” she did not see the thrill of them, but she really hated seeing him sad. 

 

“For a guy who scored a homerun against the Yankees, you don’t look happy,” Beaumont joined them as they left the field. 

 

“I’m happy, we did good,” he squeezed her shoulder. 

 

“So why do you have a look on your face as if your dog got run over by the team bus?” she wanted to know. 

 

“I did this for a bit,” he admitted. “I played, and I loved it. But it was a dream that I messed up and it didn’t last. Now, this whole thing, it was a little of it back again.” 

 

“You scored a homerun against the Yankees,” she smiled. “I’m pretty sure you’ll go down in some form of history. 

 

They were just about to leave the field completely when the loudspeaker crackled.  **_“In a series of games, the police force of New York has risen to show they serve the community in every way they can. Raising money to aid those in need. This came to a conclusion now, and to show appreciation for their efforts, for their dedication to the cause and their hard work, the New York Yankees would like to show their support by extending an invitation. To number one of the second precinct, who scored a homerun, to join them for the duration of the game.”_ **

 

That sure had the crowd going quiet, for all of two seconds. After that the noise was deafening. 

 

“See, they miss you too,” Casey grinned. Giving him a light shove, because apparently his feet were glued to the ground. “Go over and play with your friends now. You can have a chilli dog when you’re done.” 

 

“Damn it Walsh, you’re gonna get to play with them,” Beaumont shook her head. 

 

“Yeah,” what more could he say? He did not know what to say. The others appeared to be as confused as he was. 

 

“That is so weird man,” Delahoy shook his head, and Banks could only nod. 

 

“We will pray for you,” Cole decided. “It’s an honor for you, and may God bless you.” 

 

Reaching the dugout he was starting to feel more like himself again, no longer walking in a confused fog. 

 

“Everyone’s gonna think you’ve lost it,” he told Oriole as he joined them, then staggered a little as Reds slapped his shoulder. 

 

“They might, but I got a job for you,” he shrugged. “You okay to play?” the slight limp that had been there before was a little more pronounced now. 

 

“No more homeruns, but I wouldn’t have expected that anyway. But if you put me on the field, I’m gonna cost you points,” he shook his head. It did not make sense. 

 

“We got a new first base we’re trying to break in,” Oriole shrugged. “Regular is injured, and this guy, he don’t get what teamwork is.” 

 

“I know the type,” he mused dryly. Alvarez was learning, had made a huge improvement as they played, but he wasn’t there yet. 

 

“He thinks it’s all about him, he’ll cost us. And I don’t have anyone else to take the position. You’re rusty, but at least you got a feeling for it and some talent. I want the guy to see that a guy who’s out of practice can still do better than him if he works with the team. I need him to see that, or he’s a goddamn waste and we’d do better without him.”

 

“Uh hm,” it made sense. You could not win a team game on your own, but a lot of young hot shots thought so. Mets wasn’t the first, and he wouldn’t be the last. Some of them learned the lesson and became useful. Others, never took the hint and was dropped down to a lower league. They generally did not like that. 

 

Mets was positively fuming with anger as Walsh took his place at first base. They had thrown him a spare uniform shirt, which was a little unusual. It gave him a number though. 

 

As strange as the move was, Oriole was working for the good of the team, and as out of shape as Walsh was, so was he. He was not up to major league standard, but he had a summer of games and hard practice behind him. He was rusty, but he knew what he was doing. He knew the point the coach was trying to make, and he knew how to do it. He backed off and let Angel from second base take the ball, not because he couldn’t have tried to catch it, but because Angel would actually do it. That was the important thing. 

 

He guarded his base, and did so fiercely, when the ball was thrown to him he was ready and got the guy on a ground out. It would have been great to get a flyout. Catching it in the air before it could even land, but it was harder. Smokie did, caught a beauty. Marlin helped him out from behind, and they got another ground out. It wasn’t a very exciting play, but it was one that earned them steady points with little to no risk. 

 

He wasn’t sure if the reason they let him bat wasn’t because they felt sorry for him though. He was badly out of his league there. Even took a three strike call in the first inning. 

 

The opposing team did not seem to know what to make of him. A cop who got a lucky hit and was there for laughs as far as they knew. He wished them all the luck in trying to figure it out. 

 

In the second inning he got a hit, but not enough to really get him anywhere. He coasted in on Dodgers hit after it went into the far outfield. 

 

Apparently this was pretty much was Oriole had figured he would do, as the coach told him he was keeping up okay. The coach might think so, he wasn’t so sure. He had counted on a ten minute game, not the full thing, so he wasn’t sure if his ankle would hold up for much longer. If it slowed him down, he didn’t care what Oriole had planned, then it was time to warm the bench. He was not going to be the one who cost them a victory. 

 

Oriole kept him to the fourth inning, then put Mets back in after having had a small chat with him that Walsh had to admit he was glad he had not been privy to. He remembered those talks. One part pepp and five parts sheer terror. Yup, the coach knew how to get you motivated. You’d do everything to avoid another one of them. Including throwing yourself on the wire and letting all the rest of the team climb over you. Yeah, much better than another little chat. 

 

Sadly, it did not seem like Mets took the hint, Walsh almost groaned when he watched him. 

 

He went out on the field and took his place, and that’s when it went downhill. He nearly collided with Angel, going for a ball that wasn’t his to go for. He swung at balls he shouldn’t swing at, and thus earned them an out. 

 

Walsh shook his head as he saw it, he liked to keep up with the games as much as he could, but he didn’t have a TV which sometimes made it a little hard. Every now and again though he’d either pick up a ticket, or one of the guys would get him in. The advantage of being on friendly terms with more than half the team. Didn’t work so well for away games, but he didn’t have the time to leave the city anyway. He sometimes watched those at the station. 

 

It wasn’t going so well though, and he was starting to have his doubts about Mets staying on the team. If he couldn’t play for the team, they’d have no use for him. One thing about teams, one thing he had once told Alvarez was how it was always the team. If one got into a fight, everyone got into a fight. That was the way it was. When he was with the Yankees, that was how they had played it. Sure, there were arguments in the team, you throw together that many guys, they’re not gonna get along all the time, but that stays off the field. You still back each other up. Mets didn’t know this apparently, didn’t want to understand, and until he did, they wouldn’t have much use for him. 

 

Obviously Oriole was tired of it to, and how could the talk not have work? He’d seen grown men tremble after one of those. Oriole took Mets back out, and put him back instead. If the guy had been pissed before when Oriole let a cop play in his place, it was nothing on how he looked now. Ready to chew horseshoes and spit nails. Not happy was an understatement, and Walsh was starting to feel rather worn out. Sure he tried to stay in shape, but good shape for a cop and good shape for a major league baseball team was not quite the same time. There was a lot of desk sitting involved in being a detective, if you liked it or not. Not as many chases as some thought, even if a lot of the stupid perps always tried to run. 

 

There was a lot of hard arrests, some running, some chasing, and a lot of sitting, so while he hated to admit it, he was not in major league shape anymore. He was pretty sure he could hold out for the last two innings though. The Yankees wasn’t doing that badly, if they won, it would be close, but they were a few points ahead. If they could just managed to keep those, they would have a win. 

 

At least Mets wasn’t able to cost them anymore outs from sheer stupidity. Walsh played it slow, careful and safe. 

 

They kept their lead in the last inning, not really gaining, not really losing. He was lucky enough the pitcher made it a two seam fastball when it was his turn to bat. Obviously they hadn’t figured out that was his best one. He wasn’t able to do much with it himself, but it did help a couple of their runners which was about all he had hoped for. 

 

The Yankees won the game, with just a couple of points to spare. 

 

Walsh figured that was good, at least it meant he hadn’t cost the team a victory. He didn’t have time to think anything else before he was swept up in the general chaos that winning always seemed to bring with it. Backslapping, hugging, getting hoisted in the air if they thought you’d done something good. 

 

Reporters wanted to know your thoughts of the game, something he remembered very clearly. Since he didn’t want to tell anyone anything of that, he ducked out of the way. He wanted to keep his name out, and Oriole respected that, so did the rest of guys. He knew the guys from the station would be showering in the changing room they had been assigned. He still stayed with the Yankees for the time being. It was easier for one thing, and it was nice. Experiencing the chaos and rowdiness again. 

 

He heard Mets demand to know from Dodger just exactly who he was, and nearly burst out laughing where he stood under the spray. 

 

“Who’s on first.” 

 

“Yeah, who was the guy the coach put on first base?” 

 

“Yes,” Dodgers nodded eagerly. 

 

“Who was it?” he demanded furiously. 

 

“Exactly,” Angel chimed in. Obviously a little annoyed over how Mets had acted, seeing as he normally had the patience to live up to his name. 

 

Mets looked ready to stamp his foot in anger, “the coach put some ass on first base. What’s his name?” 

 

“No, What’s on second base,” Mariner shook his head seriously. 

 

“Who’s on first,” Angel supplied. 

 

“I don’t know,” Mets raged. 

 

“Third base,” Walsh called from the shower. He couldn’t help it, he heard them as clear as if he was next to them. He couldn’t help but join into the routine that was probably familiar to baseball players everywhere. Some were bored of it, some didn’t have the humour to appreciate it, others, like these guys, didn’t mind having fun with it. He thought it was he and Brewer who had once tried to see how much of it they could recite by heart, and yep, Mets hated his guts now. There was practically steam coming out of his ears, and the guy would most likely join the Ben Shaw fan club. Only so he could go to the weekly ‘hate Jason Walsh’s guts’ meetings. 

 

The way Brewer was leaned over double laughing probably didn’t help. 

 

“You celebrating with us?” Angel wanted to know and he shook his head. 

 

“I should get back to the guys from the station.”

 

“Oh, come on,” the guy actually looked disappointed. 

 

“Tell you what, win next week, and I’ll swing by,” he promised. 

 

“And what happens if we lose?” that was a challenge from Brewer and he knew it. 

 

“Then I’ll deny all knowledge of you and burn my mit,” he deadpanned. 

 

“If you don’t come by then, we’ll hunt you down,” Brewer threatened, and Walsh knew him well enough to know he meant it. 

 

“I will, I promise, and hey, before I head back now, I want a favor from you guys.” 

 

“Anything,” Brewer declared, and he meant it. 

 

TBC 

 

Please comment, Jeremy Cricket is hungry....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also Actual Important Note
> 
> What Walsh does, is called an In the Park Home Run, not as common anymore. But it's the only one I'm familiar with, which is why it's the one I opted to use. Once I found out it wasn't very well known, it was either use it or re-write the whole story, so I chose to keep it.
> 
> I figure he's a bit of an unusual guy, he can be excused for doing an unusual home run..... :D


	13. Chapter 13

 

Half an hour later he joined the guys from the station again, limping because while he had meant that the ankle would hold for a ten minute game, he had not expected to play for more than ten minutes. Right now, he really wanted to find some chair somewhere and sit down. 

 

Everyone was pretty much already finished when he entered, looking up at him, and he wasn’t really all that fond of being the centre of attention that way. 

 

Then a loud cheer broke out, and he wasn’t sure if that didn’t make him even less comfortable. One thing was for sure, he had everyone’s attention on him, and not in the way he prefered it. 

 

“Okay, yeah, that was something,” Delahoy finally spoke up. 

 

“You were great,” Casey beamed. Sidling up to him with an easy grace. 

 

“Pretty cool yes,” Beaumont had that cool controlled smile on her face. The one she had when she did not want to get too obvious with her emotions, but generally he really enjoyed it later when it was just the two of them. She was usually pretty good at making sure he enjoyed that. 

 

“I can’t believe it,” Banks was shaking his head. “Man, do you have any idea what you just did?” 

 

“Eh, played baseball?” he knew that he would find that answer infuriating as he sank down onto a bench. Trying not to wince as he extended his ankle. 

 

The coach of any team tended to be half medic out of necessity, Oriole was no exception and was a master with the kinesio tape. He had taped it up, and told him he should go have it looked at, but then he didn’t really know why he wouldn’t. He didn’t know how hard Walsh found it to just enter a hospital these days. It was much easier to just pick up another roll of tape if he needed it. He’d have to use the crutches again, that was pretty much a given. He didn’t figure it would be worse than that though. He could walk, if he had to, it just hurt like hell to do so. 

 

“Played baseball?” Banks blinked. “Played baseball, that’s all you did?” 

 

“Yup,” oh, he loved to rile them up a bit. 

 

“You got to play with the Yankees, that’s not just playing baseball. That’s like, like,” Banks gave up. Apparently unable to decide what it was like. 

 

“Look, I know a couple of guys with them,” he shrugged. “They were missing one of their regulars, had a new guy on the team that wasn’t all that good. I figure they put me in for a laugh.” It wasn’t exactly the way it was, but he hoped it was enough to satisfy them. 

 

“And you just happen to know a couple of them?” Beaumont folded her arms across her chest. 

 

“Yeah, told you I was a jock in high school, baseball team,” he shrugged. “I liked to play ball, I hung with other guys who liked to play ball. Got to know a couple of them, some rather decent ones, we grab a beer sometimes, it’s not really a big deal.” He would have to tell her the truth later, but telling her was one thing, telling the rest of them was something else. “Anyway, aren’t we supposed to be celebrating now?” That did it that got them going. After that it was nachos and beer, whiskey and celebration. A very late night and when he stumbled into the diner with Beaumont it wasn’t just because his ankle hurt that he was unsteady on his feet. 

 

When Beaumont woke up he was just coming from the diner, two mugs of coffee in his hands. Making rather slow progress. 

 

“Should you be walking on that?” she frowned and he shrugged. 

 

“If I didn’t, I’d have to make two trips, and I thought you’d like some coffee.”

 

“You weren’t wrong,” she took the mug he held out to her. “Breakfast?” 

 

“I want to tell you something first,” he picked up one of the boxes he kept on top of his locker first. “This is from my baseball career, what I had of one.” 

 

“So, you really did play,” taking a long slow sip of the coffee she put the mug down. He didn’t make the best coffee, but it was strong and hot. Opening the box she found a uniform on top. “Walsh, this ‘is’ from the Yankees, do you mean to tell me you played with them?” 

 

“Yeah,” he hung his head a little, which made her frown. Obviously whatever it was about, it wasn’t really a happy memory. She might have been angry he had not told her, but now she pushed that feeling aside. 

 

“What happened?” 

 

“You remember I told you my girlfriend was killed?” he asked quietly and she nodded. “Yeah, well, it was my fault.” 

 

“Hey,” scooting closer she put an arm around him. “I don’t think I believe that.” 

 

“True though. Look, I had a scholarship, good deal, then for some reason or another, they terminated it, and suddenly I was indebted to them. I was playing minor league and got approached by some guys, seemed easy enough. So I threw a couple of games for money, paid of the debts, got even the way I saw it. Then I got called up to the majors, and I refused to do it anymore. At first they tried to scare me, then I got beaten a few times, my car was torched, and then they went after her. Police said it was a mugging gone bad, but I don’t think so, it was my fault, and I couldn’t go on after that. So I came clean with the coach, played out my contract and became a cop.” 

 

“Do you miss it?” she wanted to know, and he nodded, because he didn’t lie to her. He did not always tell her everything, didn’t always tell her right away, but he did not lie. 

 

“Yeah, I do. I miss it a lot.” 

 

“Do you want to go back to it?” 

 

He looked at her surprised, if he did she would support it. That was pretty big. 

 

“No, it’s not me anymore,” except maybe it was. Maybe a part of it would always be, but he wasn’t lying to her when he said that, he was lying to himself. 

 

“It wasn’t your fault Walsh,” she stated slowly. 

 

He turned his head to look at her, confused. “You did something kinda stupid yeah, but that don’t make it your fault. I will never believe you meant for it to happen, if you could you would have stopped it. It was them, their choice, their action, not yours.” 

 

“That doesn’t really make me feel any better,” he mused. “I’m always gonna feel responsible to some extent.” 

 

“Then we’ll work on that,” she insisted. “Right now, I think it’s time for breakfast. Then I want to see you in that uniform. Does it still fit?”

 

“Should,” as far as he knew. 

 

“Good, what do you want, waffles or pancakes?” 

 

“I thought I’d make pancakes.” 

 

“Pancakes it is then, but the diner stays closed,” she informed him, picking up the coffee mug. 

 

“Wait, what?” he blinked confused. “You hate cooking.” 

 

“True,” she confirmed. “But pancakes I think I can manage, and aside from the fact that you should stay off that foot, you’re the hero of the game. I think you deserve a breakfast.” 

 

“Oh, okay,” having only one mug to worry about he picked up one of the crutches. “Keep you company?” 

 

“Please,” she was fairly sure she could manage it, the instructions was on the back of the box, but she would feel better if she had backup. If you kept him from getting his hands on any weird additions his cooking wasn’t all that bad. 

 

They were halfway through it when Casey entered. Making a ‘don’t get up’ wave and using her key to get in. He had given her the key so that he would not have to get up, so it made sense. 

 

“Hey,” Beaumont greeted her warmly, which he was glad for, and put another plate and mug on the counter. “Are you as sore as I am?” 

 

“I’m pretty sure I am,” she nodded. “Ten minutes against those guys are worse than all the rest of the cops.” 

 

“What happens when you play against pros,” Walsh grinned. “Your dad saw it?” 

 

“Yup,” she nodded. “Took him a while to come to terms with it, then he actually said he was proud.” 

 

“Hey, that’s great,” Beaumont smiled. “That’s really good.” 

 

“Got you something in case he didn’t,” Walsh mused. “Mind getting my bag?” 

 

“Is it still full of your disgusting stinky sweaty clothes?” she wanted to know, and he grinned. 

 

“Yup.” 

 

“I’ll get it, you eat,” Beaumont decided. “I’m used to dealing with his sweaty stinky things.” She got the bag, and Walsh dug into it, fishing out two baseballs, making sure she didn’t see just what had been tangled around one of them. 

 

“I know you said your dad had that signed game ball,” she had admitted to that, eventually. “I’m thinking these tops that.” 

 

“That from yesterday?” they were almost covered in names she noted as she took it carefully. 

 

“Yup, the one we played against them, and the one from the main game, signed by most the guys.” 

 

“Did you sign it?” she looked for his scrawl, but couldn’t spot it. 

 

“No, it’s the real players,” he looked a little confused. “Except that idiot, we didn’t even ask him, but I’m guessing he’ll get bumped down again, so you don’t need his anyway.” 

 

“Sign it, both of it, them,” she ordered, finding a pen in her pocket. “If I’m getting my balls signed by the Yankees, I’m gonna have it signed by all of them, and God that sounded so wrong.” 

 

Walsh only chuckled as he picked up the pen and scrawled his name in a free space almost big enough for it. Beaumont grinning. 

 

“You to?” Casey asked. 

 

“Which one is from our game, do you know?” Beaumont asked and Walsh held up one of them. “You’re sure it’s that one, or are you just guessing?” she refused to sign the wrong one. 

 

“I am a hundred percent sure,” he confirmed. 

 

Knowing he wouldn’t say that unless he was, she put her name on it. “You’d better sign it yourself Schrager.” 

 

“Wow, this feels weird,” she put her name in tiny letters, between the second base player and Walsh’s. 

 

“So, did you get me anything?” Beaumont demanded, teasingly. 

 

“Yeah, but you already have enough balls for this,” he dead panned, fishing out a bat instead. With names scribbled all over it. “I thought this more appropriate in case you wanted to bash someones head in.” 

 

“You know me so well,” she took it, then handed him the pen. 

 

“Ballpoint don’t work on it,” he shrugged. 

 

“There’s a permanent marker on your desk,” she grinned. 

 

“Fine,” it wasn’t like he minded. It was just something he had not wanted to take for granted. The Yankees wasn’t his life anymore, and he didn’t like to assume. Beaumont got the pen though, and so he scribbled his name on the bat with the others. It wasn’t like he hadn’t done it before. Something like it anyway, signing things for fans after a game. 

 

He wasn’t letting them get away with it completely though, he really wouldn’t. “Your turn,” he pulled off the t-shirt, not because he needed too, but because it made it more fun. Handing the permanent marker over to Beaumont. “If you two are gonna make me do this, I want autographs as well. 

 

“Got it big boy,” Beaumont chuckled as she wrote it large over his bicep, on the other arm from his tattoo. She handed the pen to Casey who looked him over with a calculating look on her face. As if she was trying to make up her mind where. Then with a grin she pushed up the leg of his pants to write on his bad ankle. 

 

“Really?” 

 

“Yeah, I want to see you try and explain that,” she grinned. He had just presented her with two signed baseballs, something her rich father could barely beat, and this was how she repaid him. By hoping to humiliate him. Not that anyone would see it, other than Beaumont. The marker would last a week, two a tops, and there was no reason to go back to the doctor. Even so, she had tried. 

 

He was so proud of her. 

 

Also it was better than the faint traces of bruise he still showed from Shaw’s cleats. None of the guys in the Yankees had even batted an eye at that. Marks like that were somewhat common in their line of work, both by intent and accident. 

 

Naturally he had told them about the game, including what the guy had done, as they had mocked him for being so out of shape he couldn’t handle an amateur game. It was like the way he had told Alvarez once. One guy got into a fight, everyone got into a fight. The guy was still trying to bully him, well, half the New York Yankees now hated his guts by default. He had to admit he kind of liked knowing that. If he ever tried to get something signed, and was recognized he wouldn’t get squat. 

 

Some would call it petty, yeah, but there was always people who didn’t know what they were talking about. 

 

Okay, so the talk in the station was focused mainly around the game, no surprise there. None of it. Not the congratulatory speech that Sergeant Brown actually gave. Telling them how much money that had been raised during the course of it all. Which caused a large amount of clapping, because that was some serious money. There were still a lot of people who had lost all they had, personal effects, their homes, but it wouldn’t be quite as bad now as it had been. There was a lot more money for rebuilding, both housing and lives. That was at least something and it would make a lot of things easier for a lot of them. Big things, and small things. 

 

Naturally a lot of them seemed to be amused that he was back on crutches, he hadn’t expected anything else, and he could have ignored them if he really wanted to. He just figured it was better to let the damn thing heal as quickly as possible, rather than to pretend like it didn’t pain him when it did. 

 

Brown was giving him some unhappy looks, probably because he was still trying to figure him out. It was his own fault, all he had to do was ask. 

 

He figured that the reason he was still put on strict desk duty once more was a revenge of sorts. Brown getting back at him for not sharing his history. Desk duty for another week, to start with, but at least he figured no one would put goodies in the breakroom anymore. 

 

Since Casey had rather ruined the fun of that, and because it was getting old. They’d still mess with him, but they would find other ways. 

 

As far as he could tell by lunch, they were attempting to make fun of him by pretending he was their secretary. Asking him to take notes and hold their calls when they left or entered the office. It could be worse, it could have been a lot worse. It was quite easy to ignore that. 

 

Also, since they didn’t need him anymore there was no objections to it when he got up from time to time. Other than one or two hollered requests for coffee or whatever, yeah, they had decided he was a secretary. 

 

Of course, since he did bring back a mug off coffee for Delahoy, but doused it liberally with salt before doing so, he didn’t ask for it again. He just didn’t stop anyone else from doing it. Which was why he got the enjoyment of seeing someone snort coffee with hot sauce through their nose. 

 

Apparently not something that was overly pleasant judging from the reaction. 

 

No one asked him to fetch them coffee after that, even if they kept up the secretary jabbs. 

 

Beaumont dropped a paper sack with a burger and fries on his desk when they got back from lunch, the next day he joined Casey out. 

 

As much fun as the antics in the bullpen could be at times, it was good to get out from there every now and again, and given how he was now on his second week stuck by his desk, man was it good to get out. 

 

“Out of paperwork yet?” Casey wanted to know as they sat at one of the tables in the Apolo. 

 

“You’d think that, I just about was before, but now somehow Brown keeps finding more,” he mused. “I think he’s mad at me because I didn’t tell him I knew how to play.” 

 

“He thinks you’re a good cop, but he doesn’t know why you’re a cop,” she mused. 

 

“He’s never asked.” 

 

“Because he thinks you wouldn’t tell him,” she pointed out. Yeah, Sergeant Brown was not overly fond of the mystery that was Jason Walsh. His superiors were still on him from time to time about Kowalski. She knew as much, because he was still on her from time to time about it. So far, he had been satisfied with her word that if she even suspected any of it might hurt the precinct, she’d tell him. Finding out that the man he couldn’t figure out was pretty much a pro baseball player though had to be annoying. 

 

Being one man short wasn’t ideal either, and technically they were. Walsh might be dealing with the paperwork, but that was mostly just to keep him somewhat busy. The detectives worked in pairs for a reason, and without Walsh, Casey couldn’t get quite as much done. While the others helped out and picked up some of the slack, they were a bit shorthanded, and on occasion it showed. Not that anyone complained, they had had fun, and it wasn’t the first time they were one man short. 

 

She didn’t bring it up though, as she figured Walsh was more likely to ignore it just so he could join her. He certainly wasn’t the type to try and get out of work on account of it. She’d seen him test it, and judging by the winces he tried to hide it wasn’t up to him walking on it yet. 

 

He was at least managing the crutches with more grace and efficiency she noted, which wasn’t a bad thing. He had shrugged and suggested it should be fine by the end of the week, and she figured he probably wasn’t far off. 

 

That was until Alvarez brought a perp in, taking him up the stairs just as Casey and Walsh were going down. 

 

Perp pissed at being caught, cop on crutches, not the best combination Casey decided. 

 

The guy had his hands cuffed in front of him, and now showed Alvarez to the side so he had to cling to the handrail to keep himself from going down the steps. Casey lept back to avoid him, Walsh was naturally not able to do so in time. The guy grabbed one of his crutches, first making a swing at Alvarez, then swinging back at Walsh who had just barely kept his balance against the wall. He got an arm up to try and block the blow, but not in time. She winced as he went tumbling down the stone steps. 

 

Alvarez tried to recover himself, but was pushed back again by a wild swing. 

 

Casey however had not been partnered with Walsh without learning something, not to mention playing baseball. The other crutch still lay by her feet, and picking it up she made a perfect swing, knocking the perp down. Then she pretty much sat on him to keep him down until the others could restrain him. As soon as it had started, the others had come running. 

 

She got up and allowed Delahoy to grab him together with Alvarez. He had a little better control of such things and wouldn’t let the guy grab anything else. 

 

“You okay?” she hurried down the steps to Walsh. 

 

“Yeah,” he started pushing himself up, emitting a groan, “no.” 

 

“Ankle?” that seemed the most logical assumption. 

 

He nodded, “yeah, and arm.” 

 

There was a cut at the corner of his eye, bleeding heavily. That didn’t scare her, she had been a cop long enough to know that head wounds always bled more than you thought they should. If he admitted that his arm hurt though, then that was of more concern. 

 

“Okay, what’s going on here?” Sergeant Brown was appearing at the top of the landing. 

 

“Alvarez’s perp used Walsh for batting practice,” Delahoy declared with something of a grin. 

 

“Well, get him locked up then,” he snapped. “He okay?” he directed that question to Casey. 

 

“I’m fine,” Walsh muttered at the same time as Casey spoke up. 

 

“I think he needs to see a doctor.” 

 

Walsh gave her something of a glare, but while he was sitting up, he hadn’t gotten to his feet yet which was to say something. 

 

“Can you get him there?” the question was an honest one, and it might be easier with help, but she decided against it. 

 

“I can handle it,” Beaumont wasn’t there, and she figured he would rather avoid the others finding out how skittish and nervous he became in a hospital. Some of them already knew he wasn’t overly fond of it, but none of them knew the details. 

 

His arm obviously pained him, but with one crutch and supporting himself against her she figured they were doing okay. They just had to take it a little slow, but he raised no objection at all. He hardly said as much as a word on the whole way to the hospital, which was about what she expected. 

 

“I don’t want to do this,” he muttered, shaking his head lightly. The hard plastic chair in the waiting room wasn’t exactly comfortable, but she knew that had nothing to do with it. 

 

“I know,” she put a hand on his shoulder. 

 

He sat quiet for about twenty minutes, “I really hate this.” 

 

“I know,” this time she smiled a little. 

 

“Thanks,” he closed his eyes, trying not to think about where he was. 

 

“You’re welcome,” she squeezed his shoulder briefly. Then they called him, and while she figured they might not be overly fond of the idea, she followed. 

 

The doctor gave her an odd look right away, frowning and not looking overly happy but Walsh didn’t utter one word of objections. If he had, she would  have waited outside. She knew he wouldn’t have complained if she had, wouldn’t have demanded she’d go along. He hated it, he was scared, but he was more than man enough to go in alone, she knew that. It was a question of her figuring he should not have to more than anything else. She had learnt that from him. 

 

Besides, the doctor did not know why he kept getting paler in spite of the fact that they were for all practical purposes tending to him, but she did. They thought it was because of the pain, but she was the one knew it wasn’t. It was the antiseptic smell, the stark white walls and the latex gloves. It was the noises around them, the beeping and rushed footsteps from time to time. 

 

By the time the X-rays were developed he was covered in cold sweat and monosyllabic and would have agreed to anything they suggested as long as it got him out of there right that minute. She figured that in many ways this was how it was for someone claustrophobic when they were stuck in a too small room. Where everyone thought it wasn’t a problem, but where to them the room shrank a little more every minute. 

 

Walsh could go in, question a suspect, a victim or a doctor and come out a little shaky. When Beaumont had been shot he couldn’t even go in. 

 

Now he was there, but his body was stiff and his breathing was a little ragged. His good hand was a fist and his knuckles were white while the nurse gave him some funny looks. She wasn’t sure if she should draw any attention to it, but when it made the doctor talk to him as if he was stupid she felt herself grit her teeth. How did they even make that connection? 

 

It was a good thing that she was along though, because she doubted he would be able to recite anything they had told him. He was too focused on what they were doing. Okay, given how one of them were using a needle just next to his eye she could understand that he was twitchy. The doctor, not so much. She figured the local anesthetic wasn’t working properly and wanted to give him another dose. Apparently, according to her, a grown man could not simply be uncomfortable about the fact that someone was putting stitches not an inch from their eye. 

 

So much for the idea that all doctors were smart she figured. For someone with a hospital phobia, five stitches had to be quite nasty. He did better when they fixed his forearm in a cast that covered most of palm of his hand as well. Better, not great. 

 

She had to admit that it was slightly amusing when they came upon the autograph on his ankle though. Just a little faded by now, but it was a good marker, the ink still read easily. They even seemed a little unsure of what to do with it, wondering if they should wash it off not. 

 

“Got that signed by a great baseball player,” Walsh finally spoke up with something of authority. “It’s staying.” 

 

She figured that was sweet, and wasn’t going to argue. 

 

Tumbling down the stairs certainly hadn’t done the ankle any favours, and they declared kinesio tape and a brace wasn’t going to cut it according to them. Which was why she found out what an aircast was. It seemed like a good solution to the problem the way she saw it. It got him out of there faster, which she was all in favor for, because he was starting to look decidedly worn out. 

 

They told him to rest, stay of the ankle as much as possible and ice it accordingly. Offered him a sling for the arm that he declined with a shake of his head. At least they told them that the air cast would allow him to put some weight on the foot, which was a good thing. She figured crutches wouldn’t work all that well with a casted arm. 

 

She’d have to tell Brown that she wasn’t bringing him back in though. There was no point and it was much better that she took him home so he could get some rest. 

 

She made a quick call while he signed the papers that seemed to be mandatory for any care, a small mountain of them, and she doubted he had any idea of what it was he was signing. It did not really matter, should there be any sort of trouble afterwards, her family knew the lawyers to deal with it, and for his sake she would do that. 

 

It gave her the time to brief Brown, who naturally wasn’t happy. It was bad enough to have a detective on extended desk duty, while now it seemed uncertain if he would even be up to that. Maybe later, but the first few days she wasn’t so sure. She had never broken anything, but from what she understood it hurt. She, unlike Walsh, knew things like the periodic table, but she did not know the names of any of the bones in the body. She did however know that there were two in the forearm, and apparently both were fractured, which meant broken, thus would hurt. 

 

Walsh did not argue about going home to the diner, which leant merit to the theory that yes, it hurt. He was a little more opposed to going to bed, declaring he was not a child, but with a pout that made him look like one. Like an adorable five year old, or close enough she figured. 

 

The only thing missing was the oversized christmas sweater with the skier or something on it, and it would be just perfect. 

 

“You gonna be okay now?” she wanted to know. She had texted Beaumont who would be coming after she got off her shift. She had already heard most of it in the bullpen. The perp had apparently tried to get to Banks through the bars of the holding cell, which had sent him into a frenzy. They were about to move him to more secure holdings right away, as their holding cell was more of a holding cell and less of a secure long term thing. She was rather happy to know that, she was not looking forward to having to try and navigate past the guy in a rather crowded room. 

 

“I’m fine,” he muttered. Which was what he had said the whole time and was thus something she was beginning to suspect she should not trust. 

 

“Want anything to eat before Beaumont gets here?” she leaned against the wall, feeling perfectly relaxed. Sure, she should probably head back to the precinct for a few hours work, and he was a grown man in spite of current appearance. 

 

“You are aware that this is a diner, right?” he gave her a slightly confused look, and there really was something of a five year old over it. 

 

“And I doubt cooking is something you really ought to be doing right now,” she pointed out. “But I should really head back to the station, so, anything you need?” She figured that it said something about their partnership that he actually seemed to consider it. 

 

“Don’t think there is anything right now,” he mused. He was exhausted, and as much as he wouldn’t admit it to her, a nap sounded like a pretty damn good thing. “I think I have some ice tea in the fridge, could you just see?” Because if he did not, the only things to drink was water and beer. Water was fine, beer not so good at the moment, and while the water was fine to wash down painkillers it was not an inspiring drink. 

 

Casey nodded, and stepped out into the diner, poking her head back inside. “You don’t have any, I’ll just pop around the corner and get you some before I head back.” 

 

“Thank you, that’d be great yeah,” he nodded. 

 

Not only did she get a couple of bottles, she brought him a glass, and gave him a teasing smile. “Beaumont will come by when her shift ends, if you need anything before then, you can give me a call, okay?” 

 

“Doubt it, but thanks,” he wouldn’t unless he really, really had no choice, but it was nice of her to make the offer. It was yet another thing that was different now. Because Kowalski would never have made that offer, would never have gone with him. Would not have been able to show that amount of understanding. 

 

Kowalski hadn’t been all bad, but they were never working on the same level, there was never any real trust. 

 

At the time when he stopped playing ball, traded to being a cop, it hadn’t really been any good. It was a dark and foggy time in more ways than one. By the time he was teamed up with Shaw he was coming out of that, and had decided that no, he did not deserve to be a punching bag for that bully. Compared to that man mountain he was pretty much a scrawny runt though and he knew it, so he outsmarted him. Not popular, and Shaw had not taken it gracefully, not at all. There had been too many witnesses for him to do anything right then, but those witnesses had also been laughing at his expense. He had been transferred after because things never really worked between him and Shaw. Since Shaw had been there before he was, he was the one who got moved. Labeled as a good but complicated cop. After a stint at one other precinct where the Sergeant couldn’t figure him out he got moved to the second, where he stayed. Not that Brown fully knew what to make of him, but at least he seemed to figure it was worth keeping him. 

 

None of them seemed to figure out that all they had to do was ask though. 

 

Funny how that worked. 

 

He was dozing when Beaumont entered, looking up as she entered, shaking her head softly. 

 

“You let Alvarez’s perp do that to you?” she mused. 

 

“No, Alvarez let his perp do this to me,” he defended himself. “It’s not the same thing at all.” 

 

“Not at all no,” she agreed, with that tone of voice that implied she was only humouring him, and he pouted. Casey had told her to do that, had been very insistent actually and now she saw why. She been insistent that the half focused pout was pretty much the most adorable you ever saw Walsh, and she had to give her credit, she was right. 

 

Sometimes it was a bit like sharing him with another woman, the way he was with Casey. Partners often wound up being very intimate with each other, you learned how your partner thought. It was very private and personal and hard to understand for anyone who had not experienced it. It was the same way with her and Cole, she knew she sometimes talked about him too much when she was with Walsh, and yet he never seemed to mind. She and Cole spent everyday together, it was close, it was a different sort of intimacy than she and Walsh shared. It could still wear on a relationship but it worked for them. 

 

Sometimes Casey got to see a side of Walsh she had not seen herself, but it was okay, because it was the way it was. They looked out for each other, they took care of each other, and, Casey never minded sharing. Like she had done now, making sure Beaumont got to see that. 

 

Yeah, they really needed to get him one of those christmas sweaters, it would be just perfect. 

 

“Feeling better now,” she stretched out on the bed beside him. Wrapping an arm around him, cuddling. 

 

“Very much,” he declared, nuzzling her neck. 

 

“Good, becuase you know, I got some things planned for later,” she teased. 

 

“Why later?” the disappointment on his face was just too much and she almost laughed. 

 

“Becuase I got some major league moves, and I want you in shape for them.” 

 

“Um, can’t wait,” he sounded really eager now. Really eager. 

 

“I thought you’d say that,” she grinned, pressing a full kiss to his lips. 

 

Shifting a little he figured he was glad for the air cast, he had a feeling tonight would involve just a little more of strenuous activity than the doctors considered wise. What did they know anyway? This was going to be great. A part of him would always miss the career he had once had, playing ball, the rest of him. The bigger part enjoying the moment, in love with a gorgeous cop figured it was all the way it should be and right now he had all he could possibly want. 

 

_ Second Precinct, this is dispatch. We got a report from the New York Yankees they’ve misplaced one of their players, please advise them to locate the lost and found. Also, would someone just please tell me who the hell is on first base already? _

 

The End

Please comment, Jeremy the Cricket is hungry....


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